Halloween
by SqueakGirl
Summary: Stan Marsh's first Halloween as a college Freshman leads him on a long night's journey of understanding into the inner workings of his Super Best Friendship with Kyle Broflovski. Costumes aren't the only things that can hide who you truly are. Style
1. I Love You, Kyle

A new fic! This one will be a bit longer than what I'm used to writing; I plan about ten chapters. I have about four written already. I started writing this story with the idea of challenging a few Style fanfic cliches, but I'll probably fail at that and end up writing every trope in the book. Oh well.

**Summary:** College can be a time for academic achievement for many, unsupervised partying for others, and a chance to discover who you really are to the world. Or to your best friend. Stan Marsh's first Halloween as a college Freshman leads him on a long night's journey of understanding into the inner workings of a Super Best Friendship.

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Style

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park. This is simply for fun and writing practice.

Please enjoy.

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><p><strong>Chapter One – I Love You, Kyle<strong>

Stan realized he loved Kyle at the age of twelve. They had been sitting on the couch watching Terrance and Phillip. A regular day in their pre-adolescent lives; snowy and cold, like the day before it and the day that would follow after; Stan lounged against the armrest with Kyle sitting at his feet. Two hours had passed as the boys focused their attention wholly on their crude television program. It had been a rerun, and both boys quietly murmured along with the characters' lines. Kyle had yawned into a laugh, stretching his arms up over his head. He'd been up late the previous night, studying. Stan could tell his friend needed sleep, but at any suggestion of departing home Kyle pouted. Stan chuckled, nudging Kyle in the side as he did so. Kyle would squirm and half-heartedly snap at Stan to leave him alone. Yet as the day wore on, Kyle's eyes had grown heavier. Finally to Stan's amusement, Kyle had drifted off to sleep, falling sideways onto Stan's lap

Stan had lain against the couch's armrest for awhile, gazing down at his best friend whose head rested against his thigh. Kyle's familiar green hat had fallen away, and Stan was presented with volumes of bushy red hair. Without thinking Stan had reached out a small hand and ran his fingers through the thick curls. He marveled at the springiness, the softness. Scooting further down, Stan moved until Kyle's head rested against his stomach. He could feel the other boy's breath whisper against his thin t-shirt. Stan decided he enjoyed the feeling and continued running his fingers through Kyle's unruly hair.

Now closer to his best friend, Stan counted the few freckles patterned around Kyle's cheeks and nose. Stan wondered where else Kyle might have freckles, and for a moment, Stan felt hot under his collar. Not sure why his temperature had risen, Stan brushed a curl behind Kyle's ear. For a moment Kyle stirred, mumbling something about fractions and decimals. Stan chuckled and played with his friend's hair some more.

Stan stayed like that for two whole episodes of Terrance and Phillip, not even caring that he hadn't paid attention to the show. Kyle was much more fascinating. As he watched his friend sleep, Stan began noticing little things he had never noticed about Kyle. The way Kyle curled his fists, as if even in sleep the redhead prepared for a fight. Stan had known Kyle to be a restless sleeper. He had lost count of the times he'd awoken to find Kyle sprawled out against him during one of their sleepovers. Stan never had the heart to move in one of these situations. Even if Kyle's arms or legs were flung over Stan, pinning him to the bed, the boy wouldn't move. He'd let his friend sleep until morning.

Another thing Stan noticed about Kyle was the way he frowned in his sleep. Similar to the way the boy curled his fists, Stan guessed Kyle's perpetual grimace indicated some unease. For a moment Stan thought of Cartman and all the insults he slung at Kyle on a daily basis. Touching Kyle's forehead with his fingertips, Stan debated about whispering to Kyle that he was safe here. Stan wouldn't let Eric Cartman disrupt his best friend's sleep.

Stan thought of all the times he'd walked away when Cartman and Kyle had fought. So often the two bickered at one another that it became so much easier to just leave, ignore it, and hope they ended their fight in a reasonable amount of time. There were times Stan had stood up on Kyle's behalf against their heavyset friend. He recalled the time when Cartman owned his own theme park, and Kyle lost his faith in God. Stan had tried so hard to thwart Eric, to show Kyle things would be okay. In the end, Stan realized, he'd been powerless against Cartman. It had been karma (or perhaps God himself) which brought Cartman to his knees. Stan remembered the unrivaled joy he felt at seeing Kyle awake and sitting up in his hospital gown; the two of them had watched Cartman bemoan his lost theme park for a good hour before Kyle had to return to the doctor.

Looking down at his friend, Stan noticed Kyle's shirt had bunched up and a small sliver of skin showed just above the boy's waist. Stan figured Kyle might feel cold with his shirt scrunched up that way. Leaning over his friend Stan tugged the soft orange fabric down past Kyle's hips. For a moment Stan's fingers brushed skin, and he jerked his hand back. His temperature rose again.

Stan figured he was getting sick. Stan didn't get sick much, unless one counted his weak stomach. Kyle got sick a lot more than Stan. Sometimes he'd be out of school for a week or even more. Stan always visited him during those times. He remembered in third grade when Kyle needed a kidney. Again Stan had found himself facing down Cartman for Kyle's behalf. Stan shivered; he did not want to think about what would have happened if Cartman hadn't been tricked so easily.

Stan was staring at Kyle again. The redhead had tucked his knees close to his stomach, his fists now pulled to his chest.

A sudden thought struck Stan and it made him ache.

What would he do if he didn't have Kyle?

This question seemed extremely important to Stan. He lay there trying to imagine a world where Kyle wasn't at his side, tagging along behind him. As he lingered on the thought, Stan's chest grew tight, and his eyes stung. Although he was right next to his best friend and rested on his mother's plaid colored couch, Stan, suddenly, felt lost. As if he was miles and miles away from home in some unknown land unable to understand the language. He imaged himself trying to communicate with the strange, mesh-colored figures in his daydream, but they merely ignored him. They moved forward in their lives, unaware of Stan's desperate yearning for human contact. He felt like he was drowning, and he sat up too quick.

Kyle jerked awake beside him. Snorting and rubbing at his eyes, the redhead rose up. He blinked sleep away and tried to focus on the television in front of him.

"How long was I out?"

"Not too long, dude," Stan said in a whisper. He didn't know why he had to talk real low, but it felt like a sudden necessity. Stan had a strange urge to reach out and touch Kyle's cheek, as if to make sure the boy was real.

Kyle stood up from the couch. Stan felt his chest tighten again.

"Where you going?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Dude, I gotta go take a piss."

"Oh…."

Kyle laughed at him.

They finished their Terrance and Phillip marathon, and then played outside in the cold. Riding their bikes to Cartman's house, the boys tried to splash their fat friend with slush when Eric tried to get them to participate in his latest 'get-rich-quick' scheme.

It was another normal day in South Park, Stan thought. Except with one new revelation; Stan loved Kyle. At the time, Stan brushed it off as a 'guy love' kind of thing. He cared about Kyle because he was his best friend. The thought of losing his best friend was devastating, but Stan convinced himself there was nothing out of the ordinary by thinking like that way. He was sure lots of people would be really lost and alone without a best friend.

Stan was also sure best friends thought about kissing each other too, but he decided to keep that part to himself.

If Kyle one day decided to kiss him, then he'd be totally cool with it. Cause that's what best friends do, right?

* * *

><p>Stan realized at the age of sixteen that he loved Kyle very differently than the way he loved anyone else. He loved his parents despite their flaws. His father could get under his skin with every new harebrained idea the man thought up, but Stan still loved him. He wanted his father to be happy. He wanted his mother to be happy. And yes he even wanted Shelly to be happy. He loved each and every one of them, and knew if he lost them he'd lose a piece of himself too.<p>

If he lost Kyle, however, he'd lose more than a piece; he'd lose half his body. Stan couldn't help but generate a mental image of being split in half, with one side falling gracelessly into a gutter, while the other half trailed after Kyle's heels.

Stan loved Kyle differently than the way he had loved Wendy too. With Wendy, Stan had felt fluttery, nervous, but good. The idea of having her next to him, holding onto his arm, made him feel full and lighter than air. He had walked the halls of South Park High with his hand firmly on her shoulder. When he was younger, the idea that he was showing her off never crossed his mind, but as he got older he felt more and more like Wendy grew into something he had to have, like an accessory. She became not so much his girlfriend, but reassurance of who he was supposed to be. He thought he knew what that was too; the high school quarterback, beloved by all. South Park's young hero. Wendy was the designated girlfriend. He had to be with her, it was an unspoken rule.

It was discovering that Wendy had turned from human girl to commodity that made Stan pull her aside one day and tell her to break up with him. She had sighed at the plea; she was a smart girl. She had felt Stan's detachment way before he had, but hadn't given up hope that he might stumble out of his funk. She simply patted the boy on the shoulder and told him to find someone he loved. Not a life preserver to keep him afloat in the shifting waves of high school life and drama. She explained that he needed someone he'd be willing to sink to the bottom of the ocean with, not someone he'd let drop like a stone to keep his head above the water.

And so Stan thought of Kyle. He hadn't been thinking of Kyle a lot. School, parents, Wendy, and football had cluttered his mind and time. Kyle, however, never vanished from his side, in which Stan was grateful. The tightening feeling he'd felt in his chest at the age of twelve often haunted him on Friday nights, when the stands were packed with fans, and he stood holding the football, debating in split seconds if he should just drop it, everything else about his life, and run away from town. He could never see Kyle in the stands despite his best friend's vibrant-colored hair during these games. The huge crowd of faces swarmed around Stan, closing in and distorting his mind. Somehow, he'd make it through the game; part of him believed he hadn't choked yet because he knew Kyle was always watching. Stan never wanted to disappoint his friend.

After Friday night football, no matter win or lose, Stan retreated from the others to find his friend. Kyle would materialize out of nowhere, small, thin and angular; a permanent frown on his face for everyone but Stan. The two would leave the noisy crowd and retire to a deserted diner to eat and chat about anything but school and football.

Stan realized he loved Kyle when he watched him undress one night after winning a big game. Stan had escaped the melee of the crowd, and following Kyle, departed for his friend's house. The two stayed up until three in the morning talking about the next Xbox game they wanted to buy or what Mrs. Broflovski would say when she discovered Ike's mold experiment in the basement.

When the two decided to head to bed, Stan unrolled his sleeping bag. His father had once caught the two boys sleeping in the same bed at the age of fourteen, and had dropped hint after hint that Stan was far too old for such things.

"You don't want people to think you two are 'funny,' do you?" Randy had asked, eyeing his son carefully.

"No, Dad." Stan had replied. He thought about telling his father that he might actually like the idea of being 'funny.' What was so wrong with being 'funny'? Maybe he could make people laugh because of it.

After his make-shift bed was made, Stan had headed to the hallway bathroom. He changed into a cotton t-shirt and boxers. He brushed his teeth, watching his toothpaste-colored spit spiral down the drain. Stan wished his father hadn't caught them. Stan hadn't thought the sleeping arrangements strange; sleeping in a bed with Kyle had become no different from sleeping in a bed alone. Stan just preferred the former scenario because he always awoke feeling a lot warmer than he would have all by himself.

After finishing in the bathroom, Stan returned to Kyle's room. It was when he paused to readjust his day clothes more securely under his arm, that Stan noticed Kyle. Through a crack in the door, Stan could see the redhead unbutton his crisp, green shirt. Button by button, Kyle's hands traveled down his chest revealing his pale, thin chest beneath. Dropping the shirt, Kyle moved his hands over his belt. Stan watched as Kyle flippantly tugged the leather strap from around his waist to toss into a corner. The buckle thudded against the desk chair. Next, Kyle pushed his pants down to his ankles. He stepped gingerly out of each pant leg, tripping over the fabric and steadying himself with one hand on the bedpost.

Now standing only in his boxers, Kyle turned to his dresser. Shifting through the second drawer, he pulled out plaid pajamas. Stan wanted to laugh; Kyle was the only boy he knew who still wore the bed clothes his mother bought for him. Not even Eric Cartman, the self-proclaimed momma's boy, donned his teddy bear patterned pajamas nowadays.

As Kyle dressed, Stan examined his friend's body. Kyle was skinny like a rail. His shoulders were bony; his elbows and knees nothing but angles. The redhead's legs were knobby, sticking out from Kyle's long boxers in a comic fashion. Kyle turned around and began pulling on his pajama bottoms. Stan found himself entranced by the curve of Kyle's spine. The way the ridges stood out against his friend's pale flesh. Stan's fingers twitched. He had a sudden urge to throw his arms around Kyle, pressing his friend's small frame to his much sturdier chest.

Sweat trickled down Stan's temple.

Kyle was putting on his top now. His twiggy fingers fastening up the buttons with a certain dexterity that made Stan shiver. Stan had another new urge. He wanted to help with those buttons; he suddenly liked the idea of pulling Kyle towards him and taking his friend's shirt in his hands to fasten it. Although a small part of his mind mused over undoing the buttons instead.

Kyle was dressed now. He sat at his desk, flicking on his computer by shaking the mouse back and forth across the desk's surface. When the screen appeared, he began clicking through links. Stan decided he'd hung in the doorway long enough. With his face turned anywhere, but at Kyle, Stan entered the room and deposited his dirty clothes in his backpack. He crawled under his sleeping bag and lay down on his stomach. He faced away from the computer desk, staring at the bottom of Kyle's dresser. Stan felt his stomach flip-flop every time he heard Kyle click the mouse. Sudden nausea enveloped Stan, and the boy ducked his head into his pillow. This wasn't much help; unfortunately for Stan this pillow was borrowed from Kyle and retained his friend's scent. Stan turned on his side and glared at the door.

"Dude, Bebe sent you a message over Facebook," Kyle finally spoke, twirling around in his desk chair to look at Stan. He frowned. "Aw, don't go to sleep yet."

Stan shrugged, although it was hard to do so laying on his side. "I'm not."

"Good. You should see what Bebe said."

"Can't you just read it to me?" Stan yawned. Kyle pouted, and Stan hated himself for liking it. To save face, Stan added, "I don't even check my Facebook anymore. Why is she even talking to me?"

Kyle held out his hands as if to say who cares, and then turned back to his computer. The glow from the monitor made Kyle's skin an ugly shade of blue. For a minute Stan thought he looked attractive.

"I guess it's kind of mean, but sort of funny as hell, dude."

Stan was growing impatient. His body was reacting weirdly to Kyle's very presence. It wasn't a new sensation; Stan had felt these strange impulses before. Watching Kyle undress, however, had triggered something akin to a chain reaction in Stan. His body temperature rose and his stomach gurgled stubbornly. He flushed with heat, reveling in it and yet at the same time cursing it.

Kyle was talking, but Stan's attention was distracted elsewhere. From his angle on the ground, Stan could see Kyle's foot dangling over one knee as he sat cross-legged in his chair. The foot bobbed up and down. Kyle's pajama bottoms were too short, which was saying something given the redhead's already diminutive stature, and his bony ankle peeked out from under the pant's cuff. Stan wanted to kiss Kyle's ankle, lick it, and maybe even bite it. Not too hard of course, just strong enough to get a reaction out of Kyle. What that reaction was Stan couldn't answer. He just knew lying in his sleeping bag was torture; it was getting too damn hot.

Kyle finally shut down his computer. He rubbed at his eyes and stared blearily at his alarm clock.

"Shit, dude. It's almost four in the morning." He crawled up over his covers and collapsed on top of his bed; sheets, covers, and all. Stan watched Kyle pull his green ushanka tighter over his head and then turn his thin body to face the wall. Stan stared at Kyle's back and imaged seeing his friend's curved spine and slim shoulders bare once again.

It wasn't the first time Stan masturbated. It was the first time he did it with Kyle so near, however, and the first time he did it with full acknowledgement that Kyle was the one he thought about while touching himself. In the past, Stan could pretend that his lust-filled illusions of a shadowy red-haired figure were anyone else, but his best friend. Lots of people have red hair…and wear green hats…and have thin shoulders, and bony wrists connected to hands with thin fingers that slowly unclasp buttons and tap computer keys.

When Stan finished, an undulating feeling of pity and fear rattled through his heart. He felt sad too, like he'd lost something. A part of Stan felt like he'd betrayed Kyle, using him in such a way. He thought maybe Kyle knew what he'd just done and would disown him as a friend. Despite that improbablity, Stan couldn't help but wonder how Kyle would react to the confession - _Hey, dude, you make me horny as fuck. Just thought I'd let you know._

Another part of Stan, a much stronger part, also wanted Kyle to feel just as good as Stan did at that moment. Clarity had come over the black-haired teen. He felt whole and new, like his chest was slowly filling up. He could literally see his old self, that self labeled by South Park's own wants and desires, fade like smoke in the wind. He was replaced by a new Stan, a Stan unsure of what to expect with the next week or day or even minute, but also a Stan that knew he loved someone. He understood the ache in his chest and the nausea in his throat and the heat on his brow. He embraced the convoluted feelings of relief and fright.

He knew he loved Kyle.

He knew he wanted to be with Kyle forever no matter what.

And he knew he wanted to make Kyle as happy as Kyle had managed to make Stan feel in that one moment.

Picking his way carefully to the bathroom, Stan cleaned himself up. He hoped Mrs. Broflovski didn't mind her hand towels being used in such a disgraceful manner, but Stan couldn't find anything else for the job. When he returned to the bedroom, Kyle had rolled over onto his back. His arm lay slung over the side of the bed and his mouth hung open as he snored. Stan smiled down at him and pulled the covers up over his friend's skinny form. Kyle frowned despite the provided warmth and curled himself into a ball. His fist clenched and unclenched, and Stan couldn't help but think Kyle looked ready for a fight.

Stan wondered if Kyle would hit him if he knew how Stan felt towards him.

It didn't matter, Stan realized.

Stan loved Kyle, and that's all that mattered to the boy at that moment.

* * *

><p>Their room was the last one on the hall. Adjacent to a huge window that overlooked the west quad, Stan and Kyle's dorm room was found on the fourth and last floor of the freshman building. In the heat and haze of the dying summer, Stan and Kyle had lugged many a suitcase and brown cardboard box up the four flights of stairs. The dorm had no elevator, and this was the first thing Kyle complained about that year. Other complaints would later include the college's meal plan, the laundry rooms, every fraternity on the campus, and the class scheduling. Stan would frown and nod his head, accordingly, to Kyle's ranting.<p>

Over the years, listening to Kyle's ravings had become somewhat therapeutic for Stan. He could easily close his eyes and listen to the hum of his friend's disdainful tongue lashing. Stan, of course, tried to keep his head in the conversation long enough to add his own heartfelt 'yeah' and 'I know, dude, weak.' But in the end, Stan blocked out the words. It was Kyle's feisty, wound-up presence that somehow calmed him more than anything else in the world. And today was no different.

Stan still loved Kyle, but Kyle didn't know. It wasn't for lack of trying. During most of high school, Stan found himself raking together his courage to confess. Unfortunately, every time he attempted, his 'coming out' speech would be disrupted by one thing or another. Whether it was another of Kenny's deaths or Cartman's twisted schemes, Stan found himself having to attend funerals, stop rampaging mobs, or rescue Butters from a pack of vegans who hated tap dancing.

Stan often mused over how sane he'd turned out. Living in South Park would drive anyone into a loony bin, but Stan had managed to escape, albeit not too far (the college resided in the same state), with just the fact that he was gay teenager. Since the age of sixteen, Stan had known this one fact about himself, and rather than wallow away his life sad that 'no one would understand him,' he had embraced the knowledge and went about living his life one day at a time.

Although embracing the idea of being gay and revealing it to friends and family were two completely different matters to Stan. It wasn't that he was afraid of rejection; he just preferred to ignore conflict. If one day the topic of sexuality happened to come up between him and his parents, he'd carefully let it slip.

The same with his friends…and with Kyle.

Their dorm room was smaller than they'd been told. With a bunk bed pushed up against the right hand side wall and two desks perched opposite, the room resembled more of a cluttered closet than a bedroom. Kyle threw down his luggage and moved towards their only window, situated between the beds and the desks. Unlocking the top and pushing up the glass, Kyle let in a warm breeze. He pulled at his sweat-soaked shirt and began complaining about the size of the room.

"Dude, this is totally not what the picture looked like!" Kyle exclaimed, turning around to watch Stan heave in a blue trunk. They had already said their good-byes to the parents. It took Mrs. Broflovski twenty minutes to finally stop crying; it took her forty-five minutes to actually let go of Kyle's hand. Kyle wouldn't admit it, but Stan knew Kyle was upset too. Stan felt a new, foreign emptiness too after watching his own mother slide into the driver's seat of the family car and pull out of the asphalt parking lot. Stan had found himself waving until his arm hurt.

"Did you expect it to look like the pictures on the website?" Stan challenged, smiling to himself as he tugged in a lumpy armchair. His father had given it to him for his graduation. Stan shoved the piece of furniture in the corner by the foot of the bed. The door would hit it upon opening.

Kyle crossed his arms. "Well, no…but I didn't expect to be placed inside a fucking closet!"

"It's not a closet," Stan laughed. "It's a nice room. We get two of everything and the bathroom's just down the hall."

"Why do you have to be so optimistic all the time?" Kyle snorted, rolling in his own luggage. His parents had bought him a whole new set of pine green suitcases and bags. They looked expensive.

"Because I tried being a cynical asshole once, and everyone knows how well that turned out."

Kyle snapped his mouth shut, his retort dying in his throat. Stan chuckled.

"Look, dude, I just try to be positive about stuff now. I mean," Stan paused, gesturing to the room, "it is small. And we could use an elevator and air conditioning."

"And without that weird sour milk smell in the common room…."

"Yeah that sucks," Stan agreed. "So does none of the TVs working in this place too."

They began to unpack. Stan threw his shirts, jeans, and socks all into one drawer. Kyle looked at him, scandalized.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, holding out a hand in disbelief. Stan had just stuffed a wad of underwear into his bottom drawer next to his sweatpants.

Stan blinked. "Uh, putting my shit up?"

"Don't do it like that! You won't know where anything is!" Kyle pushed him out of the way and began refolding Stan's t-shirts. He placed them gently in the third row drawer and fit in sweatshirts next to them. Stan watched as Kyle carelessly flung his underwear to the ground and replaced the space they'd vacated with jeans and sweatpants. Stan smiled; Kyle's tendency towards organization and cleanliness had grown over the years. His desire for order and logic flowed over into his daily habits and routines. Stan often found Kyle rearranging the books on his friend's shelves just to make sure all the labels faced the right direction.

"Dude, it doesn't have to be perfect," Stan laughed; he bent down nonetheless to help Kyle rearrange his sock drawer.

"You'll thank me later when you're running late to class, and don't have to worry about being cold because all your sweatshirts are right here." Kyle tapped the third drawer. Stan rolled his eyes.

"Whatever."

"Hey, as long as you're living with me, you're going to keep organized," Kyle explained.

Stan knew it was meant to be a joke. Kyle could bitch and moan as much as he wanted, but he couldn't really make Stan do anything. However, Stan liked the implication of his friend's words. They were 'living together' in a sense. Although, Stan berated himself for thinking something so gay, he couldn't help, but feel warmth grow in the pit of his stomach.

After they finished with the drawers, the boys moved onto the closets. Two had been built into the tiny room, and the closets proved just as cramped and small. Kyle managed to fit his sweaters and jackets neatly inside. He arranged the hangers by color; all of them faced the same direction. Stan stood sheepishly at his own closet, trying to decide on what pattern he should organize his own clothes.

Kyle sighed.

"Dude, give me that." Kyle grabbed Stan's letterman and hung it up. Next Kyle followed the jacket with several hooded sweatshirts and two coats. Like his own closet, Kyle color-coded the hangers and hung them so that all faced one way.

"See, how easy it is to find things now?"

Stan scratched the back of his head, "Uh, sure."

He shouldn't feel so light-headed with happiness, his stomach churning, but Stan couldn't help, but enjoy Kyle offering Stan help. It was…for lack of a better word…cute. He had to fight off the urge to hug Kyle to his chest.

"So you want to be on top?"

Stan started. "What?" he blurted out a little too quickly. Kyle tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. He jerked his thumb at the bunk beds.

"I don't like being on top, dude," Kyle explained, still giving Stan a wary look. "You know I have a fear of falling out of them. Especially these with no rails to stop me from rolling over the edge."

His heart rate slowing down again, Stan raised an eyebrow. "So you'd rather let me risk my neck up there?"

Kyle shrugged and began throwing sheets and pillows onto the bottom bunk.

"Well, you're sturdier than I am. A fall from that height would barely bruise you, mister all-star athlete," Kyle said with grin twitching on his lips. Stan rubbed his elbow self-consciously. Kyle spoke the truth. Stan was pretty sturdy. After four years of high school football with grueling practices and ferocious game nights, Stan had obtained a solid build, if not still on the lean side. Since puberty, Stan had grown like a weed, leaving Kyle far behind. Scrawny like a scarecrow and almost a head shorter than Stan, Kyle often let out snide remarks about Stan's size. Stan took the jokes in stride; he guessed Kyle was jealous. Stan did, however, wonder if it was for that reason Kyle brought up the subject so often. Maybe he had body issues in general, it seemed ever since the girls' had made that list back in fourth grade, appearance tended to always be on the back of Kyle's mind.

It would explain the tasteful dark green button-up shirt Kyle insisted on wearing today, despite the heat and physical exertion of hauling their luggage up four flights of stairs. Kyle looked like what Stan had always expected a gentleman would look like. Kyle dressed smart, held doors open for complete strangers, and tried his best to alleviate any injustice he saw in the world. Stan liked to think of Kyle as a gentleman, even if the redhead lost his temper and complained on a regular basis.

Stan made his bed next, climbing up top, to spread out his sheets. He was kind of glad about sleeping up here. Kyle would be too short to see whether or not Stan had made his bed in the mornings.

Surprised at how fast they had unpacked their life into their tiny closet of a room, Stan and Kyle decided to explore the building. Finding it just as cramped, musty, and dull as their own room, the boys ventured out onto the campus. Freshman everywhere unloaded cars and trucks. Suitcases, bags, televisions, microwaves, and beanbags littered the sidewalks. Students waved goodbye to parents while younger siblings now rejoiced at the prospect of acting like an only child for almost ten months out of the year.

"I miss home already," Stan said quietly. Kyle looked disgusted.

"Why the hell would you miss South Park?"

Stan raised and lowered one shoulder. "I don't know, dude, I just do, okay?"

Kyle softened. "Yeah, I'm going to miss South Park too."

"At least we have each other," Stan ventured, trying to sound goofy, but failing. He hesitated, raising his hand, and then placed his arm around Kyle's shoulders, pulling him into a hug. He was never sure he could pull off platonic touches; his strong feelings almost always wanted his physical contact to tumble into new and exciting territory.

To Stan's immense pleasure, Kyle hugged him back. In the middle of their quad, they stood arm in arm, Stan's arm wrapped around Kyle's thin shoulders, and Kyle's hand lingering around the small of Stan's back.

"I don't think I could have left South Park without you," Kyle confessed.

Stan started and glanced down at Kyle. His friend stared off towards one of the classroom buildings. Students lounged together on the lawn outside its front steps.

"Yeah?" Stan asked, not liking the strained sound of his voice.

Kyle smiled up at him. "Yeah."

After dinner in the cafeteria, Stan and Kyle walked back to their room in silence. Outside the dorm, loitering around the front steps was a group of students smoking. As the boys approached they recognized one of the smokers by his orange hoodie. Kenny McCormick waved down to them from his perch on the stone banister. His legs propped up before him; Kenny reclined like some lanky feline, his messy blond hair falling into his eyes.

Kenny had made it to college. Somehow after countless nights of cramming, repeated emergency calls to Kyle about test questions, and endless searches for scholarships, Kenny had found himself enrolled in the same school as his friends. Whether or not he had that same determination to push him through four years of college still remained to be seen.

As Stan and Kyle climbed up the stone steps, Kenny stretched and held out a long hand, offering a pack of cigarettes. Kyle rolled his eyes at the package and continued towards the door. Kenny turned to Stan and smiled.

Stan had once had a crush on Kenny. A brief little moment of infatuation, where Stan wanted Kenny to whisper something dirty in his ear the same way he did for the girls. The crush only lasted a week, during a time before Stan's serious epiphany about Kyle and after Wendy had broken up with him for the last time. He had been fifteen and Kenny had been making out with Tammy Warner behind the school gym. Stan remembered catching Kenny with his hands stuffed up under the girl's blouse. She had moaned, resting her head back against the brick wall. Tammy's hands had inched down the front of Kenny's jeans, and Stan watched in rapt fascination as Kenny arched his back and groaned.

Stan had, for those brief moments, imagined himself touching Kenny that way. Desperation had torn through Stan during those weeks following his breakup. He had the strangest longing for any kind of physical contact. At the time, watching his blond friend make out with Tammy, Stan had settled on a half-hearted plan provoking Kenny into teaching him something in the area of sex.

Stan had never mustered up the courage to go through with this delusional scheme. However, one evening, as Stan sat amongst all his friends watching some dumb movie, Kenny had leaned over the armrest and touched Stan behind the ear. The blond teen's fingers had been soft and cold. Stan had shivered, and Kenny had given him a lopsided grin. When he pulled his hand away, Kenny only asked if Stan felt alright. Confused by the question, Stan had chuckled nervously asking why the concern. Kenny's eyes had lingered on Kyle for a few seconds, before the lanky teen shrugged and said no reason.

"Want a smoke, quarterback?" Kenny smirked, jiggling the carton in front of Stan's face.

"Stan doesn't smoke," Kyle stated as if his word was final. Kenny nodded and pulled out another cigarette for himself. The odd group Kenny sat among consisted of members that could easily pass for a Goth kid. Stan didn't recognize any of them though.

"What are you his mother?" asked one young man with skin-tight jeans and faded white blond hair. He wore large square-framed glasses which he peeked over to examine Kyle.

"No," Kyle said tersely. "I was stating a fact."

The guy turned to Stan. "Is it a fact?"

It was, but Stan was distracted by how much he enjoyed Kyle bossing other people around on his behalf.

"Yeah, it is," Kenny answered for Stan. "I just like messin' with him. He's a good boy. Our town's hero."

Stan frowned. "Shut up, Kenny."

"It's true," Kenny wheedled with a sad smile. Kenny guessed that South Park liked their heroes normal, financially sound, and not running around with a cape and underwear on the outside of their pants.

Stan rolled his eyes and marched up the rest of the stone steps.

"Dude, let's go back to the room," he told Kyle. Waving to Kenny he said, "See ya later."

Kenny nodded and lit his cigarette. Kyle swiped his ID card through the reader and he and Stan walked inside. Just as the door swung closed, Stan heard one of the girls sitting at Kenny's feet ask,

"Are they together?"

Stan didn't stop to hear Kenny's answer. Rushing through the disserted lobby, Stan found the entrance to the stairwell and tugged open the door. Kyle raised an eyebrow at his friend, but said nothing as the two began the long trek up four flights of stairs.

* * *

><p>College proved a lot different than high school very quickly. Classes for instance weren't always scheduled back to back. Homework consisted of volumes of text to read, two page response papers to write, and thoughtful note taking to provide conversation fodder for next class periods. Stan and Kyle eventually got into the swing of it all after the first week, lugging overloaded backpacks across campus two or three times a day.<p>

The university had familiar elements to their high school days. The food in the cafeteria was still subpar, people melded into cliques without hesitation, and some teachers were still complete assholes. Stan also started up his football practice, spending a lot of time with a new team. It had been intimidating at first, having to settle in with so many new people. He realized quickly that most of them had already joined fraternities and upperclassman recruiters started hounding Stan with speeches on the benefits of joining the Greek system. They often bombarded him with fraternity history and propaganda in the locker room after a long evening of practice; when he was nearly dead on his feet. It was this new annoyance that made him miss Cartman, Clyde, and the rest of South Park High's old team.

Stan refused the fraternity recruiters each time he was cornered. Not because he had anything against the Greek organizations or that he felt some kind of self-righteous power at withstanding their conformity. No, it was much simpler. He knew Kyle didn't like fraternities, and if Stan joined one, Kyle would be disappointed in him. Not to mention the fact that Kyle would have to find another roommate the next year if Stan lived in a frat house. Stan could not fathom the idea of Kyle living with anyone else.

Another familiarity about college was Kyle necessity for constant study and achievement. As he had entered his high school career, Kyle's love for education had overflowed, leading him to advanced classes and snide remarks from Cartman about being a huge nerd. Now in college, Kyle figured out his schedule with color coded diagrams and post-it notes. He spent hours in the library and woke up early to cram in last minute scanning of his books to prepare for the day's lessons. Stan watched him in wonder.

_Kyle's so smart_ Stan would think to himself.

Just like Stan believed Kyle represented the pinnacle of gentlemanliness, he also believed Kyle was the smartest kid in the world. A little bit of an over exaggeration, but to Stan there wasn't a single question the redhead couldn't answer. Stan recalled how totally lost he'd been when it came to picking out his own classes, afraid he'd stumble his way into a class way over his head. During the summer, Kyle had scoffed at Stan's reluctance and, taking the schedule booklet from his friend, Kyle had listed off and explained each class for Stan. It was this kind of calculated rhetoric and clear sign of a collected mind, that Stan garnered the strong belief that Kyle could handle anything.

One night at the beginning of October, Stan lay in his bunk staring at the ceiling. Kyle had bought some of those glow-in-the-dark stars and pasted them all over the walls and ceiling. He had tacked most of them over Stan's bed. Kyle had arranged all of them to resemble real constellations, and Stan had sat in amazement as Kyle labeled them all over their room.

Raising his arm, Stan traced a star with his finger. He wondered how long the glow would last in the cheep plastic. He hoped all year; maybe even forever.

The door to the room opened and light spilled into the room. The yellow glow from the hall silhouetted Kyle's small frame as the boy threw off his bag and kicked off his shoes. He turned and closed the door. Stan turned to face the wall pretending to sleep. As a young teenager, Stan would have continued watching Kyle, hoping for another glimpse of his friend undressing. Now with several more years under his belt and with a spark of maturity igniting his actions, Stan kept his eyes to himself.

He listened as fabric rustled revealing Kyle had shucked some article of clothing from his body. Stan forced his mind away from possible inappropriate fantasies about his friend unbuttoning shirts. Instead, Stan focused on something innocent, if not a bit lame. He thought about holding Kyle's hand. Just his hand. Stan saw himself walking down a road lined with trees and gravel under his feet. The sun peeked through leaves, dappling the ground in front of their path. He looked at Kyle and his friend smiled up at him.

A struggling gasp brought Stan out of his reveries. He called his mind back to the dorm room and listened. Another muffled sob rent the air. Stan bolted out of bed and was half-way down the bunk bed ladder, when he saw Kyle tuck up his legs and throw himself under his thick covers. Stan dropped to the floor, and peeked into Kyle's bed.

Wrapped in his blankets, Kyle feigned sleep.

"Dude, you okay?" Stan asked, scooting closer. He pressed his knees to the edge of the bed, debating about sitting down.

No answer.

"Kyle?"

Pulling the covers away from his face, Kyle sat up. Taken aback by the quick movement, Stan started backwards. Kyle rubbed at his face, sniffing hard. He stared down at his hands with bloodshot eyes. His usual unruly curls looking more frantic and disheveled hinted to Stan that Kyle had been running his hands through it multiple times.

"I'm going to fail everything, Stan," Kyle croaked out. Stan blinked.

"What?"

"I can't do it. It's too much! I thought I got it all figured out, but – but it never ends!" Kyle pulled at his hair. Stan made up his mind and perched on the bed at Kyle's side.

"I don't understand…," Stan said.

Kyle leaned over the side of the bed and dragged his backpack up into his lap. He ripped open the zipper and began flinging thick textbooks over his bed. Stan read the labels as they landed with soft 'thumps' on Kyle's sheets. Science, math, physics, all subjects Stan shied away from.

Kyle opened a small assignment notebook. His hands shook, and Stan had a sudden urge to hold him.

"I have to read a forty page chapter by Thursday. Thursday! It's only Tuesday. I have three pages of Stats equations to figure out. I haven't even started on my essay for Physics," Kyle rattled off his voice growing high. "I can't. I can't do it."

Tears actually leaked from Kyle's eyes, trailing down his pale cheeks. Stan rarely saw Kyle cry, and when he did it always frightened him. Kyle spared little emotion for trite things. If he felt strongly enough about something to actually cry, Stan knew it had to be serious.

"It's not so bad," Stan tried to reason. He himself took far fewer classes than Kyle, but it didn't mean he failed to understand the pressure of a college workload. He had had this panicked revelation earlier, some six or seven days ago. With his football practices encompassing a good chunk of Stan's time, he found himself spending whole Sunday afternoon stuck inside the library, buried by shelves wondering if he'd managed to chug through all his homework before midnight.

Kyle shook his head. "It's not just school. I have to keep my job at the library too. And yeah I get time to do shit, but it never seems enough. It's like I finish with one thing and fifty more things surface to take its place!"

Kyle threw himself back against his pillows and covered his face. Stan rubbed his wrists awkwardly.

"Dude, you're like the smartest guy ever. You'll be okay." Stan reached out and patted Kyle on the shoulder.

"I just feel like I'm going to fall into this hole and never climb back out," Kyle whispered staring up at the bunk above. Stan continued to rub his friend's arm, trying to make it look as platonic as possible. Kyle didn't seem to notice.

"If I can get through it, you can, dude. You always do good at school. And you're all organized and shit," Stan comforted. He scooted closer. "We have a free period tomorrow, right? We should totally spend it doing homework together. I'm sure after you've gotten some sleep you won't be so freaked out. And once we're sitting down and get working on it all, you'll realize it isn't so bad. You can do it."

Stan touched Kyle's hand. For a moment Stan feared he was being too friendly, but Kyle just took in a deep breath and let it out shakily. He rubbed at his chest, and Stan realized for the first time that Kyle wasn't wearing a shirt. Heat enveloped Stan, and he averted his gaze, staring instead at the green digital clock on their microwave.

"You're right, dude," Kyle said as last. He smiled. "I'm being stupid."

"No, it's understandable. I kind of had a moment like this where I thought I was going to shoot myself if I got any more homework."

Kyle laughed, sitting up straighter. He sniffed again but kept his grin in place. Stan was still touching Kyle's hand. They both stared down at their fingers, entwining, and Stan thought of walking under trees with spots of sunlight flashing high over their heads.

"You ever feel like running away from it all?" Kyle asked suddenly. Stan knitted his brows in confusion. Kyle explained, "I mean like no one's telling us to do this. Go to college. There's no law saying we have to go here. It's not like for high school. We don't have our parents here to stop us or tell us to do homework or clean our rooms."

Stan snorted. Like anyone needed to tell Kyle to clean his room. Their dorm room had remained spotless from day one.

"I don't know. Haven't really thought about it," Stan confessed.

"We have so much freedom all of a sudden. I realized it the other day and it made me dizzy. I've been going to dinner at six o'clock every day since we got here, but I don't have to. That was when my mom always had dinner ready, but like I could totally wait 'til ten at night to eat, dude."

Stan shook his head; Mrs. Broflovski haunted her son even from miles away in South Park. Kyle's little revelation about defying ingrained routine made Stan ache with the need to hug him again.

Kyle laid on his back his fingers still brushing Stan's.

"Sometimes I feel like I can do anything…and then I feel like if I even try, something really important might shatter."

"Yeah."

They were silent for some time. Stan wondered if Kyle was drifting off to sleep.

"Kenny invited us to a Halloween party."

Stan blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah, Bebe and Wendy are throwing it. We should go." Kyle turned on his side to face Stan. Their hands remained connected.

"Dude, you hate parties."

"I do not."

"Okay, correction you hate parties with other people."

Kyle thought for a moment and then said, "Alright true. People are stupid."

"No shit."

"I still want to go. I love Halloween. And I already have an awesome idea for a costume!"

"What is it?" Stan asked, leaning closer. Kyle tapped Stan's fingers.

"You'll see."

"You aren't going to tell me?"

Kyle shook his head.

"Aww…but I'm your best friend. You got to tell me." Stan clutched at Kyle's wrist, pumping the redhead's arm up and down in a childish manner.

"You just have to wait."

"Fine."

They changed the subject and discussed when they'd meet up for tomorrow's study period. After awhile Kyle glanced at the clock on the microwave and pushed Stan off his bed, complaining he'd never forgive him if he overslept in the morning. Stan laughed, but allowed himself to be shoved. He ascended the ladder and flopped down on top of the bunk. It creaked with his weight and then settled. As the silence engulfed the room, Stan closed his eyes and moved his thoughts back to gravel roads and hand holding.

"You know Kenny's right about you," whispered Kyle after a few minutes.

"What would that be?"

"That you're a hero."

Stan opened his eyes, his heart thudded in his chest as he waited for Kyle to say more, but it appeared that he had finally succumbed to sleep.

* * *

><p>To be continued...<p>

Thanks for reading! Feel free to review!


	2. Halloween

Here's chapter two. This is turning out to be a pretty fun fic to write. Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed so far.

**Summary:** College can be a time for academic achievement for many, unsupervised partying for others, and a chance to discover who you really are to the world. Or to your best friend. Stan Marsh's first Halloween as a college Freshman leads him on a long night's journey of understanding into the inner workings of a Super Best Friendship.

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Style

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park. This is simply for fun and writing practice.

Please enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two – Halloween<strong>

Stan rocked back and forth in his desk chair, staring at his computer screen. He watched the little dash mark blink on the blank page of his document. He had twelve hours to write up a two page response paper to a book he'd had to read in American Lit. So far Stan had only managed to make his heading which consisted of his name, the class, the date, and room number; all in fourteen point font, double spaced. He wondered if he could add any more to the top of the page; a title for the paper perhaps. He could make it two lines, the title, and then he'd have taken up even more space on the front page.

He flipped through his notes and scanned the page for a good place to start. After spacing out for five more minutes, Stan shook his head and blinked in frustration. He rubbed his fists into his eyes wearily; this was going to be a long night. Glancing at the clock, Stan noted that Kyle was an hour late arriving home. It wasn't as if the two had made some kind of curfew for the other to follow, but Kyle tended to be back at their dorm before ten o'clock. Now it was half past and Stan grew concerned. He was just debating about calling his friend when the door to their room burst open, and Kyle stumbled in. He carried his backpack over one shoulder, while in his arms he clutched a great bundle of blue and black fabric. Stan stared.

"Dude, where the hell have you been?"

Kyle grinned with excitement. "I got my costume done!"

Stan blinked, taking a second to register what his friend meant. Realizing it must be for the Halloween party Kenny had invited them too, Stan broke out his own grin.

"Really? Sweet, dude, can I see?"

Kyle nudged the dorm room door closed with his hip and then turned around to face Stan. Kyle bit his lip.

"Uh…."

"Please, dude, I want to see it. You've been talking about it nonstop since you told me about the party. But I still have no idea what you're going to be." Stan stood up from his desk, his paper totally forgotten now that Kyle was home.

"I kind of wanted to keep it a secret." Kyle turned his back to Stan and began fiddling with the doorknob of his closet. He bunched up the fabric, pulling it to his chest so that Stan couldn't see it.

Stan tugged at Kyle's backpack strap. "I want to see how awesome it is."

Kyle thought for a moment, pouting as he weighed his options. Stan smiled enjoying the thoughtful expression on his friend's face. Stan decided to pull at Kyle's sweater sleeve. Kyle didn't shake him off, and Stan began repeating the word 'please' over and over.

Finally Kyle gave in.

"I'll show you it, okay? But I want to try it on first." Kyle backed up and opened his closet. Inside he reached up and pulled at a metal cord, turning on a light bulb. A mirror hung on the back of the door.

"Give me a sec, dude," said Kyle before he disappeared inside.

Stan returned to his seat and tried to restore his concentration back to his homework assignment. Several rustling and thudding noises sounded from the closet as Kyle dressed. Stan laughed.

"You okay in there? Don't hurt yourself."

"Shut up or I don't show you my costume." Kyle's voice seemed tight with embarrassment. Stan suddenly grew curious. He wondered if the costume would be in any way revealing. The thought caused Stan to shift uncomfortably in his chair, crossing his legs in the process. He went back to forcing his mind to think about dead poets of the American Southwest and fumbled through a quick introductory paragraph for his paper.

The door to the closet crept open. Stan twirled around so fast he knocked his water bottle to the floor. He was disappointed when he saw that the door had only been opened a crack.

"Kyle?"

"Don't laugh, okay?"

Stan sighed. "I won't laugh at you, dude. No matter what you look like."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Kyle," Stan crossed his heart even though Kyle couldn't see from inside the closet. "Now let me see your costume."

"Okay, okay. Give me a minute." The door inched open, and Kyle stepped out.

Kyle's costume consisted of a long dark blue tunic and cloak with voluminous sleeves. He wore a small, flat black hat with a feather affixed to the side. The hat looked awkward, wavering precariously on top of Kyle's bushy curls. He completed the outfit with soft leather shoes.

For a brief second, Stan stared. He took in every detail from the intricate designs woven into the sleeves' fabric to the blue tights Kyle wore under his tunic. In Kyle's hand he held a golden telescope which the redhead twisted between his palms in agitation.

"I look stupid," Kyle whined softly. "Right?"

Stan bit the inside of his cheek. He wanted to laugh. Kyle did look rather silly, but Stan had promised to be nice.

"You look fine, Kyle," Stan managed to say, struggling to keep a straight face.

Kyle shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He wrapped his arms around his chest. His face had turned the same shade as his hair.

"Do you know who I'm supposed to be?" Kyle pressed. He took a step forward. It took Stan a second to register the question; he'd been staring at Kyle's legs.

"Uh…." Getting out of his seat, Stan approached his friend. He narrowed his eyes and examined the strange symbols etched into the sleeves of Kyle's tunic. He pointed to them. "Are those supposed to be stars and planets?"

Kyle beamed and nodded his head up and down so fast that his neck cricked and his little hat tumbled to the floor. He stooped quickly to pick it back up. Stan turned his attention to the telescope in Kyle's hand and then without thinking, Stan craned his view upward and took in the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars Kyle had pasted on their ceiling.

Stan smiled. He knew who Kyle was supposed to be.

"Galileo?"

"YES!" Kyle clapped and then hugged Stan around the neck. As they hugged Stan found himself staring through the mirror on the back of the closet door. He could see Kyle's legs framed there.

"Dude," Stan began, extricating himself from his friend's hold, "did you make this costume?"

Kyle flopped down on his bed, primping his sleeves, and proudly readjusting his little hat. Stan wanted to tackle him. He looked adorable.

"Well, not all of it. I had Bebe help me. I sort of showed her a bunch of pictures for ideas, and we drew a design that would be easiest to make," Kyle explained playing with his telescope and gazing at the ceiling. "I helped with most of the sewing on the tunic. Bebe made the cloak."

Standing up again, Kyle walked to the wall and flicked off the light switch. The room fell into darkness with the only light streaming from Stan's computer and the streetlights outside. Kyle moved to the center of the room and drew open his cloak. Extending his arms out, he held up the fabric, draping it behind him like a pair of wings. Stan's mouth dropped open as he saw countless constellations glitter in the dark, shimmering from the patterns stretched out on the navy blue surface of the inside of Kyle's cloak.

"Dude," Stan whispered into the dark. Kyle chuckled nervously.

"She did an awesome job, huh?"

Stan nodded even though Kyle wouldn't see. "That's fucking awesome, dude. You have the best costume ever!"

Kyle turned the lights back on. "You think so?"

Stan was on his feet again. He couldn't hold himself back anymore; he hugged Kyle to his chest.

"It's the best costume I've ever seen! Bebe's a genius." Stan made a mental note to thank the girl for dressing Kyle with such a charming outfit.

Kyle rubbed his nose. "It really is fun, isn't it?"

Stan nodded. "Definitely!"

"I just love Halloween. I wanted my costume to look fucking sweet, dude! Especially for our first college party, you know?" Kyle said. He hadn't made any acknowledgment on Stan's sudden hug or the fact that his friend's arm still draped around his shoulders.

"Now, I've got to find a good costume," Stan said absentmindedly. He ran his fingers over the soft fabric of Kyle's sleeves. Silently he touched the small Saturn shaped patterns sewn onto the collar of the tunic. Kyle stared at Stan's fingers.

"It's really soft, huh? Bebe found this nice crushed velvet for the pattern." He began explaining in detail the process of constructing the costume. He related every fabric store run and every pricked finger he had to endure for the outfit. Stan only half listened; his mind lingered on the fact that in this costume, Kyle felt very soft. Hugging his friend had been like hugging a small stuffed toy. Stan shivered wishing to repeat the gesture, but decided two hugs in one night might prove risky.

And yet wouldn't it be a perfect time to tell Kyle how he felt? What was stopping him? No, Kenny or Cartman or parents to interrupt the conversation. Stan knew Kyle well enough that he'd take the whole revelation well. Kyle was a good friend. No matter what Stan was or became or whoever he loved, he was assured Kyle would accept him.

"Can I tell you something?" Stan asked, cutting off Kyle's ramblings. Stan's hand clasped down on Kyle's shoulder. He stared steadily into his friend's green eyes, counting to ten and trying to rack up the courage to spill his secret.

A knock at the door made them start.

Kyle whipped his head around and glared at the door and then without a word he bounded back into the closet, slamming the door behind him. Stan stood in the middle of the room, his hand still hovering in the air from where he'd been touching Kyle's shoulder. The knocking increased in volume and someone shouted from the hallway.

"Ay! Assholes, let us in!"

Stan stared. He heard Kyle groan from the closet.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Kyle whined. Sounds of fabric shifting and ruffling announced to the room that Kyle was desperately trying to change.

"Dammit, you fags, let me in. I don't want my pizza gettin' cold!"

Stan took two long strides to the door and pulled it open. Eric Cartman greeted him with a glare. Kenny stood slouching with a stack of books and notebooks heaped in his arms. Cartman of course had made no attempt to help his friend carry any of the school supplies. Kenny nodded to Stan.

Stan felt anger rise in his chest. His hand shook on the door handle.

"What the hell are you guys doing here? It's almost eleven at night!" Stan snapped through gritted teeth. He placed his body firmly in the doorframe, blocking Cartman's view of the room.

"Kyle said he'd help me with my Stats homework," Kenny explained, shifting his load of books to free a hand and rub at his eyes. He pulled up the hood of his orange sweatshirt.

Stan pointed at Eric. "Okay, why's he here?"

"I go to this fucking school, asshat," Cartman said, elbowing Stan in the gut and then pushing past him into the room. He dropped his pizza box down on Kyle's desk and took his seat in front of it. Throwing the box open, he began scarfing down a large slice.

Stan rubbed his stomach. Kenny tried to shuffle in behind him, and Stan snapped his head around to glare at him too. But rather than look intimidated, Kenny gave his friend a toothy grin.

"We interrupt something, Stanley?" he whispered.

"No." Stan's face grew hot. He glanced at Cartman, but the heavyset young man was too occupied with his meat lover's pizza. Stan wrinkled his nose at the smell of greasy pepperoni.

"Where's the Jew?" asked Eric through a mouthful of cheese.

Stan sat on the edge of his desk. "He's in the closet."

"I already knew that," Cartman snapped. "I meant where the fuck is he?"

Stan's blush crept to his ears and down his neck. He fell into his desk chair and became suddenly very interested in his English assignment.

"I'm right here, asshole," Kyle said, finally emerging from the closet. He no longer wore his costume. Instead he'd replaced the velvet outfit with cotton shorts and a t-shirt. Stan frowned to himself. He missed the costume already.

"Sup, dude," Kenny called from his perch atop Stan's bunk. How he'd gotten up there without anyone noticing confused Stan to no end. Kyle waved up at the blond.

"So do I have to come up there to tutor you?" Kyle called playfully; he seemed in a relatively good mood despite the fact that Cartman was getting his pristine desk dirty with pizza grease.

"I only got a few questions," Kenny yawned, holding down his book for Kyle to take. Stan watched as Kyle nervously mounted the bunk bed ladder and floundered his way into the top bunk with Kenny. Kenny lay back against the head board and flipped open a notebook while Kyle lay on his stomach checking Kenny's homework.

Stan wished his bed wasn't so small. He had a sudden urge to be up there too.

Cartman having finished his pizza belched and turned to Stan.

"Saw the game last weekend. Shame you didn't win. Fuckin' refs never on our side." It took Stan a moment to realize Cartman was talking football with him. Stan's attention had been drawn to Kyle's bare legs, which were bent at the knee swinging back and forth.

Stan turned to Cartman and for a minute was going to talk about the game, but instead had to get a question off his chest.

"Seriously, what the fuck are you doing here?"

Cartman rolled his eyes. "I told you, Stan, I go to this school."

"No you don't," Kyle called down from the bed. "You were going out of state."

"I was, but I changed my mind," Cartman said, puffing out his wide chest. "I have that right, don't I?"

"He missed us," Kenny chuckled into his hood. Eric glared at him.

"Fuck you, Kenny. I could care less about you douche bags. It was just cheaper to come here."

"Then why was the first thing you did when you got on campus," Kenny began, shifting to the edge of the bunk and smiling down at Cartman, "was call me to find where I lived?"

"Cause I had to have someone carry my luggage, duh. Get use to that, Kenny, it's probably all you'll be good for. You'll probably end up as a bell hop after you flunk out of here."

"And," Kenny said loudly over Cartman's voice, "why was the first thing you asked me about, after you'd settled in, was where we could find Stan and Kyle?"

Stan blinked. "Seriously? Did you really miss us?"

Cartman snorted. "Ha, like I'd miss the hippie and his Jew rat."

Kyle chucked Stan's pillow at Cartman's face.

"Shut it, fat boy, or I kick your ass out of the room."

Cartman got to his feet. "I'd like to see you try, runt. I could snap you in two!"

Kyle swung his legs over the side of the bed. Stan panicked for a moment, thinking Kyle might actually jump down rather than use the ladder.

"I'm sure you have a lot of practice snapping things in two, like chocolate bars."

"Fuck you, big-nosed Jew!"

"Go to hell, you piece of fucking lard!"

Stan stood up. "Guys, guys, calm down. We'll get in trouble if we make too much noise during quiet hours."

Kyle crossed his arms over his chest. "He started it," he hissed, glaring at Cartman.

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. Eric moved towards the bed.

"You threw the pillow at me!" Cartman challenged, reaching out to smack Kyle's dangling foot. Kyle kicked out at him.

"Don't touch me." Kyle pulled his knees to his chest.

"Whatever, I don't even know why Kenny dragged me here in the first place."

Kenny raised an eyebrow. "_I_ dragged _you_?"

"Shut up, Kenny." Cartman had planted himself in the lumpy chair that had belonged to Stan's dad. It groaned under the boy's weight. Cartman pulled out his Smartphone and started playing with it.

Feeling suddenly very exhausted, Stan collapsed back into his chair. He turned towards his computer slowly as if he were underwater. Something about Kenny and especially Cartman always wore him out. He heard Kyle shuffle up on the bed, and flop open the Stats textbook. What followed was blissful silence as the four boys did homework or in Eric's case play Tetris.

At midnight, Kenny snapped his stats book closed and spread out across Stan's covers.

"So tired, dude," Kenny said through a yawn. "I think I'll just sleep here 'til morning."

Stan was just finishing up the conclusion to his short paper as he forced a laugh. "I'd like to see you try."

Kenny smirked, his eyes closed. "Challenge accepted. Goodnight."

Stan closed his laptop and mock glared up at his friend. Kyle played along and placed a finger over his lips as Kenny gave out a fake snore. Pretending to sleep, Kenny rolled over and caught hold of Kyle's waist, pulling him into his chest.

"You got the best stuffed toys, Stanley," Kenny murmured into Kyle's hair. Kyle chuckled.

"You guys are all fags," Cartman said from his corner, his eyes still glued to his phone's screen.

Kyle closed his eyes too. "You know I think I'll just sleep up here, too."

Kenny opened one eye. "Want to join us, Stanley?"

Stan's face was beet red. "No."

Kyle pouted. "You suck, dude."

Stan made a show of folding up Cartman's empty pizza box and tossing it into their recycle bin. He returned to his desk, trying to look anywhere, but at Kenny and Kyle on the bed. Kenny was now curling his fingers into Kyle's hair as if he did so unconsciously. Kyle just rolled his eyes at the gesture, flipping through his own math notebook. Stan couldn't look at them because he'd start imagining himself in Kenny's place, and Stan was trying very hard to remain in control of his daydreams.

"So you guys still going to the Halloween party next weekend?" Kenny asked lazily, he stopped fiddling with Kyle's hair and rested his chin on his friend's chest. Stan didn't like how close their faces were.

Kyle beamed. "Of course," he exclaimed a little too enthusiastically. Cartman looked up from his video game.

"What? Are you going as a tax collector, Kahl?"

Kyle sat up and chucked Stan's second pillow at Cartman's face. He managed to knock Eric's Smartphone to the ground too. Cartman bolted out of his seat.

"What the fuck? I almost had four million points!" Eric lunged for the bed's ladder and began pulling his bulk up to Stan's bed. Sensing possible danger, Stan moved across the room and grabbed Cartman's thick shoulder, pulling him backwards.

"Stop it! We're going to get in trouble if you make any more noise!" Stan hissed, shoving Cartman back into the chair. It creaked when his weight settled in it again.

Kyle sat cross legged on the bed staring icily down at Cartman.

"You need to get out," Kyle finally said.

"Oooh, did I hurt your feelings, Kahl?" Cartman cooed, picking up his phone and stuffing it into his jacket pocket.

"Guys," Stan warned, looking up at Kyle. The redhead huffed, but didn't say anything. He lay back down and allowed Kenny to wrap his arms back around his waist. Stan cringed inwardly.

"So who's throwing this Halloween party?" Cartman asked. He gave Stan a look as if to say his question was completely harmless.

"Wendy and Bebe," Kenny informed, closing his eyes again.

"The lesbos?" Eric laughed. Kenny grinned.

"Yep."

Stan blinked. "Wait, what? Wendy's…?"

"You didn't know?" Kyle asked, turning on his side. Kenny rolled with him and the two lay side by side spooning. Stan kept his face straight.

"It was senior year of high school when Wendy came out," Eric mumbled. A strange note in Cartman's voice made Stan turn towards him, puzzled. Eric shrugged and crossed his legs in response. "She told me her and Bebe licked carpet now. No loss, really. They were ugly bitches anyway."

"Jealousy's pretty ugly too," Kyle stated, propping his head up on his hand. Stan turned from Cartman to his best friend. A strange intensity seemed to fill the room. Suddenly Kenny shot up out of bed; he gathered up his belongings and slid down the ladder.

"I believe we've over stayed our welcome, Stanley," Kenny said in a mockingly pompous voice. He shook Stan's hand and then grabbed Cartman's collar and dragged the fat boy out of the dorm room. The door shut with a click, and Stan stood in the middle of the room still very much confused.

Kyle was still up on the bed. He flipped a page of his notes.

"She never told me she was…." Stan began. He felt sort of deflated. He hated himself for thinking it, but did he make Wendy that way? Was it because he himself wasn't man enough for her? Was it because he was gay too? He thought about his Kyle daydreams and swallowed.

"It's not like you asked," Kyle said, sitting up. He stretched his arms over his head. "I mean does it bother you?"

"No." Stan answered too quickly. Kyle smiled sadly down at him.

"It's cool, dude. She told me she went through a lot of soul searching after you two broke up. She really did love you. Said she realized though that it was like you were her brother after awhile. That and she didn't need to tell you anything 'cause of the way you ignored her during sophomore year."

"I didn't ignore her," Stan argued. That was a downright lie, but he didn't want to come off as the bad guy. He was also a little annoyed at Wendy for confiding in Kyle and at his friend for keeping their talk secret.

Kyle sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

"We should go to bed," Kyle announced after a moment.

Stan had to control himself. He almost asked Kyle if he wanted to stay up on the top bunk. But at the moment Kyle was struggling to get down. Despite his several hasty shuffles to the end of the bed as if prepared to pounce down on Cartman, Kyle descended the actual ladder quite hesitantly. He kept glancing behind him as if he were going to slip. When his feet finally reached the ground, he stumbled back until he landed safely in Stan's chair. Stan raised an eyebrow at him, and Kyle glared.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Stan once again had lied. He'd wanted to say something along the lines of _God, you're fucking adorable. If you don't want to sleep in my bed, can I sleep in yours?_

* * *

><p>The week before Halloween Stan and Kyle decorated their dorm room. Kyle had found a makeshift pumpkin patch outside one of the sororities. The girls there were selling them for some charity. Purchasing two medium sized pumpkins and one large one, Kyle recruited Kenny and Stan to haul them back to the room. With Cartman sitting annoyed in the corner once again, the other boys went about carving the pumpkins as they sat on newspapers at the foot of Stan and Kyle's bunk bed. Kenny cut himself accidently and excused himself from touching any more sharp objects for the rest of the evening. Stan managed to carve a traditional triangle-eyed face with jagged teeth into one of the smaller pumpkins. Kyle meanwhile had drawn some intricate design on the large one and was cursing as his knife kept slipping from his carefully executed lines.<p>

When they'd finished, Stan had two medium-sized jack-o-lanterns with silly grins, and Kyle had managed to carve, if not a bit sloppily, Boo from the Super Mario games onto the largest pumpkin. Kenny high fived him for the effort, and Cartman complained that the face was off. Stan propped all three of them up outside their dorm.

Next, they hung orange lights around the window and around the bedposts. Little paper bats hung from their ceiling mingling with Kyle's plastic stars.

The day before the Halloween party, Stan sat in his old armchair and stared up the decorations. He smiled, his eyes drooping with lack of sleep. He'd pulled another all-nighter in preparation for the weekend party. He didn't want anything getting in the way of the fun.

Kyle entered the room, arriving from his last class of the day. It was Friday and homework could wait until Sunday evening.

For a brief moment, Stan formed an image in his head of Kyle walking towards him, sitting down upon his lap, and resting his head against one of Stan's broad shoulders. Stan closed his eyes fighting to keep the picture clear. He didn't want anything else from that moment. No touching, no caressing, just Kyle close to him. The way it should be.

"Hey, Stan?"

Stan opened his eyes slowly. Kyle was leaning over him. Stan's smile widened, maybe his dream was going to miraculously morph into reality.

"Yeah, dude," Stan asked, his right hand rose slowly as he debated about grabbing Kyle's wrist and tugging him down on top of him.

"You never told me who you're going to be for Halloween," Kyle said with eagerness in his voice. Stan's mind cleared.

"Uh…I have to dress up too?"

Kyle's face fell.

"You don't have a costume?" Kyle asked throwing up his hands in exasperation. "How do you not have a costume for Halloween?"

Stan shrugged, trying to make himself as small as possible in his ugly chair.

"I don't really like costumes, dude," Stan confessed. He feared he might have offended Kyle somehow, and added, "Like I could compete with what you're wearing anyway."

Kyle glared down at his friend.

"You have to wear a costume, Stan."

"Is that the rule?" Stan asked sheepishly, wondering if Wendy and Bebe would kick him out for arriving in a sweatshirt and jeans.

"No. But I say you have to wear a costume!" Kyle said, crossing his arms. Stan raised an eyebrow. He laughed.

"You say?"

Kyle smirked. "That's right. You're going to wear a costume even if I have to make you wear it."

Stan stood up. They sometimes fought like this; playfully with them both aware that Kyle was going to win. But Stan still liked to milk it for all it was worth. Especially with his height advantage, Stan liked to challenge Kyle simply by standing up and announcing to anyone who noticed that Kyle could only win a fight verbally.

Stan stuffed his hands into his pockets. He played along. "So are you going to drag me to a costume store?"

"I might."

"You gonna try dressing me yourself?"

"If it comes to that."

Stan grew hot under his collar. He knew they were talking about innocent Halloween costumes, but the idea that Kyle might take off Stan's clothes for him made Stan sweat. His mind fell back three years earlier to when he was sixteen, standing outside Kyle's door, watching him unbutton his shirt.

Kyle narrowed his eyes.

"Dude, you okay? You know I'm joking, right?" Kyle reached out and patted Stan's arm. "If you're, like, embarrassed about wearing a costume, that's cool."

Stan pulled his mind out of the gutter. "No," he sighed, "I just never thought I needed one."

"Really?"

"I didn't really think of anything cool to be," Stan said unhappily.

"You should have just asked me," Kyle laughed, knocking his fist against Stan's shoulder. "Together I'm sure we'll come up with something by tomorrow night."

"Dude, tomorrow's Halloween all the costumes at Wal-Mart are probably picked over."

Kyle snorted. "Oh, Stan," Kyle said as if he were talking to someone slow, "like I'd _buy _your costume. No, the only way to have a good costume is to make it yourself!"

After much deliberating and Kyle pondering on how much fabric he could manage to steal from Bebe, the two came to the conclusion that they had no fucking clue on what Stan should be for Halloween.

"Maybe just throw a sheet over your head. Be a ghost?" Kyle finally suggested after two and half hours of suggestions. Stan had turned down each one from pirate to vampire to rock star. Kyle rubbed at his eyes. "I don't know anything else, dude."

Stan felt like being stupid. "How about Hitler? I could see if Cartman's got a spare costume."

Kyle glared at him.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. Now, think of something!"

Stan dropped his head onto his desk. He banged it a couple of times against the cool wooden surface. Looking up he massaged his forehead. He stared at his laptop with its Denver Broncos stickers littering the front. Glancing to his bookshelf he examined his small collection of Broncos memorabilia. Kyle brushed pencil eraser dust off his own desk, straightening notebooks and papers. Compared to Kyle's desk, Stan's looked like it was used for everything, but homework.

"I've got an idea," Stan said slowly, staring at his football resting on his bookcase's top shelf. Kyle looked up.

"What? Please don't say Chewbacca either or I'll have to kill you."

Stan laughed. "Nah, it's not Chewie."

"What then?"

"I'm going to go as John Elway!" Stan declared, throwing his hands into the air. Kyle rolled his eyes.

"You are such a dork."

"Says the guy wearing tights for his Halloween costume…."

"Hey! That was totally the style back then."

"Sure, dude."

Kyle leaned over and punched Stan in the shoulder. He flinched away and Kyle leapt form his seat and pummeled the back of Stan's neck.

"Ow – ow – haha – dude, stop," Stan managed to grab a hold of Kyle's wrist. He swung his friend around, and Kyle tripped, landing right in Stan's lap.

The two boys' froze. Kyle sat still his fists pinned together by Stan's large hands. They smiled at each other, chuckling nervously.

"Oops," Stan said letting go of Kyle's wrists. Kyle didn't move. His mouth grew into a thin line as he stared straight into Stan's eyes. Growing hot again, Stan tried to shift in a manner that subtly suggested to Kyle that he should move.

"Are you okay, Stan?" Kyle asked as if he were completely unaware of his present position.

"I'm fine…though you can get up."

Kyle rose in silence. Stan sighed with relief when his friend settled back into his own chair.

"So, Stan," Kyle began. Stan panicked wondering if it would look suspicious if he bolted out of the room. Kyle propped an elbow on his desk, and rested his cheek on the palm of his hand. "How are you going to pull off being John Elway?"

Stan blinked; thanking God that Kyle had changed the subject.

"Uh, I got a Broncos' jersey, and I can just wear my football uniform with all the equipment underneath. Just wear the jersey over that."

Kyle seemed bored with the conversation; his eyes, however, drilled into Stan's.

"Sounds good," Kyle yawned. Stan felt uncomfortable and before Kyle could continue on with the Halloween talk, Stan excused himself to the bathroom.

* * *

><p>Whatever awkwardness lingered between them, Stan and Kyle had managed to clear up by the night of the party. Standing outside one of the smaller sorority houses where Bebe lived, Stan and Kyle mounted the stone steps to the front door. They were early, no one else but Bebe, Wendy, Kenny, and a few of Bebe's sorority sisters had arrived. Kyle had insisted on arriving on time, even when Stan pointed out that everyone else would be 'fashionably late.' Kyle had scoffed at the idea, saying it was rude to keep their hosts waiting. Once more Stan couldn't help but think of Kyle as a gentleman. A socially retarded gentleman, but a gentleman nonetheless.<p>

Bebe ran towards Kyle and pulled him into a hug. Stepping back she asked Kyle to turn around so she could see her handiwork. He obliged her, smiling stupidly to himself. Stan crossed the floor to where Wendy was stacking up plastic cups. Kenny napped on the couch already stoned and costume-less. Stan felt like pointing this out to Kyle, but was distracted by Wendy calling him.

"Hey, Stan," she said cheerily. She walked around the table and threw her arms around the boy. "I'm so glad you could come."

Stan smiled down at her. "Of course. Wouldn't miss it. That and Kyle hasn't shut up about it since Kenny invited him."

Stan noted that Wendy too wasn't wearing a costume. Stan was beginning to feel rather silly dressed up in his football uniform. He glanced back at Kyle who was holding out his cloak for Bebe to coo and awe over. They seemed in a deep discussion about the fabric of the glow-in-the-dark stars Bebe had managed to sew inside the outfit.

"Let me guess," Wendy said, grinning, "you're John Elway, Stan?"

Stan smiled, shuffling his feet. "How'd you know?"

"The name on your back's a dead giveaway," she deadpanned, pulling up some boxes of plastic forks and opening it with her nails.

"Who you going to be for Halloween?"

Wendy smirked. "A lesbian."

Stan blinked. "Uh…so you're going to be yourself?"

Wendy laughed. She patted Stan's cheek and told him he'd see soon enough.

"So…," Stan rubbed the back of his neck. "When did you start liking girls?"

Wendy gave Stan a searching look; she seemed to pity him for a moment and then she rolled her eyes.

"Stanley, have I taught you nothing? I thought all those years dating me would have turned you into a proper feminist!"

"I thought all feminist being lesbians was a stereotype?" Stan remembered her distinctly telling him that after she had a long and bitter fight with Eric Cartman over the subject.

"No, what I mean to say is you obviously think you've turned me gay. That, somehow, you weren't 'man enough' to keep me satisfied with men," she explained setting out soda bottles now.

Stan sputtered. "I-I don't think that."

Wendy shook her head. "Whatever. For what it's worth, I'm bi."

Stan suddenly felt much better. "Really?"

She patted his shoulder, her eyes glancing past him and resting on Kyle.

"I lost count of the nights he and Bebe worked on that silly outfit," she giggled. "Who's he supposed to be again? Shakespeare?"

Stan felt offended that she'd gotten it wrong. "No, he's Galileo. See he's got stars on the cape thing, and he's carrying a telescope."

"Oh, that's right! Cute." She smiled and turned back to her snack table.

The other guests arrived as Stan had expected: two hours later. Stan had never been to a college party before, but he recollected movies that depicted them. From what he'd understood about films like Animal House, college parties were going to end up being one big massive head trip. Ironically, Wendy and Bebe's party seemed the exact opposite.

For one thing, more than half the guest list consisted of freshman, and Wendy had put her foot down about letting alcohol anywhere near the house. Second, most of the guests were like Kyle and Wendy; smart, awkward, and pushy in a know-it-all sort of way. A few of the party goers Stan recognized as his fellow classmates.

When the snack table and decoration had properly been laid out, Bebe and Wendy disappeared upstairs to change into their costumes. Stan had poured himself a glass of fruit punch and settled down on the couch next to a sleeping Kenny. Despite the growing noise of the party, the orange hooded boy slept on.

Stan leaned back against the couch and watched Kyle talk to several guys dressed as storm troopers. Kyle appeared annoyed by something. He pulled open his star-studded cloak and brandished his telescope to the other students. They looked at each other and then shrugged. Kyle seemed to explain something vital to them in a level voice, his eyes closed with exasperation. When the storm troopers melted back into the crowd, Kyle stalked towards Stan. He flopped down beside his friend and let out a deep sigh.

"What's wrong, dude?" Stan asked, nudging his friend with his elbow.

"No one knows who I'm supposed to be!" Kyle huffed.

"But it's so obvious!" The boys looked up and found Bebe standing over them. She was dressed in a strange uniform consisting of a pine green skirt, ribbons, gloves, and a gold tiara wrapped around her forehead. She had managed to stuff her bushy blonde hair up under a short, boyish yellow wig. Wendy came up behind her wearing a similar costume, but with a long bluish-green wig instead. Stan stared not sure what to make of them. Kyle, on the other hand, beamed.

"Sweet."

"Uh?" Stan opened his mouth to speak, but anticipating his question Kyle answered for the girls.

"They're Sailor Scouts. From that old anime, you know?" Kyle said as if it were obvious. Stan nodded, still looking perplexed.

"I'm Sailor Uranus," Bebe explained, posing with a bejeweled, papier-mâché sword. She nodded to Wendy, "And she's Sailor Neptune. Cool huh?"

Wendy winked at Stan. "See, Stan, I told you I was going to dress as a lesbian."

The girls howled with laughter at Stan's confused expression. Kyle leaned over and explained the joke. Stan rolled his eyes.

"Party started?" grunted a half-awake Kenny. He pushed himself up to the edge of the couch and rubbed at his eyes. He caught sight of Wendy and Bebe and grinned.

"I guess I died again. Looks like I made it to heaven this time though," Kenny crooned, reaching out to tug at Bebe's skirt. She kicked him in the shin.

"Don't be a perv, Kenny," she warned. Taking Wendy's hand, she said to her girlfriend, "Let's dance, dear."

The girls joined some of Bebe's sorority sisters out on the dance floor. Kenny stood up.

"I'm lovin' the guy to girl ratio here," he smirked. "Three girls for every guy."

With that said Kenny strolled away to join the dancers. He slid his way in among them, causing a riot of giggles to erupt. Wendy and Bebe glared at him, but made no move to extricate him from the dance floor.

Kyle wrinkled his brow. "Man, Kenny sure does suck at math."

Stan who'd been nibbling on a pumpkin shaped cookie asked through a mouthful of crumbs why Kyle had said that.

"There are eight boys here so far. And eighteen girls," Kyle explained, readjusting his flat costume hat with its feather. "So that wouldn't come out as a whole number. It's like he forgot to count two guys into the equation…."

Stan started choking on his cookie.

"Dude, you okay?" Kyle pounded Stan on the back and offered him a cup of punch.

Stan gulped down the syrupy liquid and swallowed.

"I-I'm fine, dude."

Kyle smiled. "Don't die on me."

Stan nodded and gazed at Kenny. The orange hooded boy gave his friend the thumbs up as two scantily clad witches grinded against his hips.

At that moment three of Stan's teammates entered the party and made a beeline for the refreshment table. Stan waved to them.

"Hey, Roger. Terry. Bo. What's up?"

One young man dressed like a boxer, with gloves and champion belt, pointed his fist at Stan's chest.

"Dude, John Elway! Nice!"

Stan beamed. Kyle moved around the other side of the snack table and became suddenly very interested in stirring the punch.

"Aw, wish I'd thought of that," said another teammate, resembling some type of ninja. He wore a black tank top with a red and white ribbon bound around his head.

"It was totally last minute," Stan explained turning around, so they could see the name on his back. He moved to face them again. "So, did Bebe invite you?"

"Nah, we're just party hoppin'," said a boy wearing a Scream cloak with the mask pushed up on top of his head so he could talk. He approached the snack table and grabbed a ladleful of punch, drinking from it directly and slopping punch over the orange and black tablecloth as he did so. Kyle gave him a look, but said nothing. Reaching for some napkins, Kyle patted the table dry.

"That's cool," said Stan, leaning against the table.

"So, guess what, Marsh?" said the ninja, smacking Stan in the arm. Stan hit him back.

"What?"

"We joined Delta. You should totally join too. Almost half the team's in the House."

Stan rubbed his elbow. "No thanks. I want to remain Independent."

"Bullshit," laughed the Scream. Stan caught a whiff of the boy's breath and cringed.

"You been drinking, Bo?"

"Fuck yeah."

Stan nodded, rolling his eyes. "Well, you're out of luck here. My friends don't drink."

"Whatever. You gonna join Delta?" Bo slung an arm around Stan's shoulder.

"No."

"Aww, come on! We need you, quarterback!" pleaded the boxer, who was called Roger. Terry the ninja crossed his arms.

"It would look really good if we could all throw our support behind one house, Stan. You aren't planning on joining any of our rivals?"

Stan chuckled. "No. Like I said I want to remain Independent."

"Half the fuckin' school is in the Greek system," Bo slurred, leaning heavily on Stan for support. "It's inevitable."

"I said no."

Roger began making mock jabs with his gloved fists at Stan's face. Ducking right then left, Stan tried to back away only to bump into the drunken Bo. Terry laughed behind them, and Roger snickered each time he made a punch at Stan's gut. Annoyed now, Stan shook his shoulders free of Bo, who slumped down on the sofa.

"Guys, stop, okay?"

"Don't be a pussy, Stanley," called Terry over his boxer friend's shoulder.

"Yeah," agreed Bo. "You don't want people to think you're like faggy Romeo over here."

Bo had pulled his mask down and pointed with a skeletal finger at Kyle who still hovered in the corner. Stan glared.

"Shut the fuck up, Bo."

"Look at him," the young man continued, peering through the hollow eyes of his mask. "He looks like fuckin' Peter Pan in that get up. You some kind of fairy, Red?"

Kyle looked down his nose. "Fuck off, douche bag."

Bo's alcohol clouded mind took a moment to register the insult. Staggering out of his seat, he threw back his hood and mask for a second time.

"What you call me, fag?" He poked a thick finger into Kyle's chest.

"Apparently booze has made you not only stupid, but deaf," scoffed Kyle, brushing the other boy's hand away. Bo was twice as wide as Kyle and almost a foot taller. Kyle poked his own finger in Bo's chest. "I said to fuck off. Leave Stan alone."

"Kyle, go find Wendy for me," Stan suddenly pleaded. Kyle ignored him and decided to add more of his 'two cents' to the conversation.

Turning to Roger and Terry, Kyle snapped, "Look, Stan doesn't want to join your fucking frat, alright? He actually enjoys thinking for himself, and I doubt he'd want to start falling off cliffs with the rest of you lemmings."

"What did you say, asshole?" Roger started scrambling around the table, but Stan blocked his way gaining another punch in the gut for his efforts. Terry hadn't moved.

"What's your name?" Terry asked his eyes on Kyle.

"Like you care."

"Just curious. Why do you hate fraternities?"

"I hate conformists," Kyle joked, his laughter not reaching his eyes.

Without warning Bo swung his large fist against the side of Kyle's head. The smaller boy dropped to the floor like a stone.

"KYLE!" Stan leapt over the table and shoved Bo back against the wall. The dancers out on the floor paused, their voices silenced. Bo chuckled like an idiot, sliding down the wall and hunching on the floor.

Kneeling on the ground, Stan turned Kyle over and examined his head. His left ear was bleeding and a nasty bruise formed on his forehead where Kyle had hit the ground in his fall. Stan shook his friend.

"Kyle…Kyle…wake up!"

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?" Bebe shoved her way between Roger and Terry. Wendy was right on her heels. Bebe caught sight of Stan cradling Kyle's head. "What the fuck just happened? Who hit him?"

Wendy pointed at Bo, who sat chuckling into his chest in the corner. "I think that drunk ass did it. I'm calling the police."

"Hey, bitch, back off," snarled Roger. He rounded on Wendy and knocked her cell phone from her hand.

"What the fuck, asshole!" Wendy spat, shoving Roger in the shoulder as she went to retrieve her phone. Stan looked up just in time to see Roger swing back his gloved fist, readying to strike the back of the girl's head.

"WENDY!"

There was a nasty crunch as Roger's face met the tiled floor. He rolled about on the ground, clutching at his nose which was now bleeding like a running faucet. Wendy whipped around just as Eric Cartman's foot connected with Roger's stomach.

"Fuckin' try to hit a girl, huh?" Cartman growled, swinging his foot back for a second time.

His head spinning, Stan watched Cartman kick Roger senseless. Wendy and Bebe shouted at him to stop, while most of the other guests bolted for the door, fearing to get involved with any trouble.

"Goddammit, Eric, you're going to kill him!" Wendy cried as she and Bebe tried to pull Cartman off of Roger. Suddenly Kenny was amongst the group. He placed himself between Cartman and the boy on the floor.

"Think he's had enough, dude," Kenny said softly. Cartman huffed and straightened his suit jacket. The rest of his costume consisted of black dress pants, white shirt, and tie. His hair was gray with white powder and a US flag pin graced his lapel. He looked older somehow.

"Fine," Eric snapped. "I was done with that piece of shit anyway." He stalked off to the snack table and began rifling through what was left of the food after Stan had knocked most of it to the floor.

Terry, who had remained motionless during the entire ordeal, bent down and tugged Roger to his feet. Moving in a jerky manner as he supported his half-conscious friend, he crossed the floor and retrieved Bo. Clutching his friends by the scruff of their necks, he dragged them out of the house and out of sight. No one moved to stop them.

Stan pulled Kyle into his lap. He shook him gently, touching Kyle's cheek.

"Dude? Dude, please wake up."

* * *

><p>To be continued...<p>

Thanks for reading. Feel free to comment.


	3. After Party

Here's chapter three. I'm pretty tired so I'm not sure I edited it as well as I should have. I'll probably check on it tomorrow. Please enjoy!

**Summary:** College can be a time for academic achievement for many, unsupervised partying for others, and a chance to discover who you really are to the world. Or to your best friend. Stan Marsh's first Halloween as a college Freshman leads him on a long night's journey of understanding into the inner workings of a Super Best Friendship.

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Style

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park. This is simply for fun and writing practice.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three – After Party<strong>

Stan banged on the glass door of the campus clinic. Inside, the waiting room was dark, but he could see light streaming from down the hall. A shadow passed briefly across the light, pausing. Shifting his weight, Stan readjusted Kyle on his back. The redhead drifted in and out of consciousness, not fully aware that Stan had carried him piggyback halfway across campus within five minutes.

Stan admitted it had been a challenge, running at almost breakneck speed in his full football uniform and with Kyle's dead weight burdening him. Several times in the sprint he'd tripped, panicking as it looked like the road was going to rise up and smack him in the face. Every time, miraculously, he'd managed to stumble back upright, while still keeping a tight hold of Kyle.

The shadow in the lit hallway disappeared. Stan growled with annoyance and knocked again, trying his best to keep Kyle in position with one hand. He could feel his friend slipping as he watched the shadow reappear and approach the front lobby.

A woman in orange scrubs let them in. She immediately bombarded Stan with questions demanding an explanation for Kyle's dazed condition. Setting his friend gently on the paper-covered table in the back room, Stan threw together a story. Not sure why he was giving the woman half truths about drunken upperclassman crashing Wendy and Bebe's party, Stan explained that Kyle had tried to make these bullies leave only to receive a swift blow to the head from behind.

"He's coming around, but he's still really woozy," Stan told the woman. She checked Kyle's eyes and snapped her fingers in front of the boy's face. For a minute Kyle stared up at the ceiling without blinking then slowly he turned his head.

"Stan?"

"I'm here, dude." Stan slipped his hand into Kyle's and squeezed it.

"Kyle," said the nurse in a level voice. Kyle glanced at her. "How are you feeling?" she asked. "Are you dizzy? Feel lightheaded? Do you think you might vomit?"

Kyle narrowed his eyes. "My head hurts."

"Where exactly?" she questioned. Kyle lifted his palms and rubbed both sides of his head.

"He was hit from the left side, but landed on his right," Stan explained. "See he's got a bruise where he hit the floor."

The nurse rattled off a series of questions for Kyle. She wrote hastily on a clipboard, asking Kyle to elaborate on any symptoms of concussion he might have accrued. Stan clung to his friend's fingers as if letting go would result in plummeting through the tiled floor.

Concluding that Kyle did not have a concussion or anything seriously wrong with his head, the nurse, whose name they finally learned was Meredith, gave Kyle an ice pack and told him to take it easy for the rest of the night. Stan took the ice pack from Kyle and pressed it to his friend's forehead gently.

"It's nothing serious," Nurse Meredith told Stan who still looked concerned. She smiled and patted Stan's shoulder. Kyle tugged on Stan's sleeve, whispering that he felt okay. For a moment, Kyle pressed his eyelids closed as if in pain, and Stan readjusted the ice pack.

"So nothing's broke?" Stan asked skeptically, he brushed a few curls from Kyle's forehead and replaced the cool compress.

The nurse patted Stan's arm. "Your friend is going to be just fine, dear. Just a nasty bruise and a headache to look forward to later." She handed Kyle a bottle of pills. "You can take those if you have any pain."

Kyle nodded slowly.

"Thanks, ma'am."

Always the gentleman, Stan couldn't help but think. Even injured, Kyle remembered his manners.

Stan helped Kyle sit up. For a few seconds, Kyle rested at the end of the table, his legs dangling beneath him. He took a deep breath and shifted a little further to the edge before stepping down. The nurse went about tossing the paper from the table and replacing it with a new sheet. She picked up a clipboard and began scribbling upon it. Stan noticed for the first time her scrubs consisted of little jack-o-lantern smiles patterned upon an orange background.

"I'm going to get down now," Kyle finally announced. Stan allowed him to brace against his arm as he hopped to the floor. Kyle wobbled for a few seconds, but Stan held him about the waist to steady his balance. The nurse smiled up from her writing.

"You two look cute," she said, hugging her clipboard to her chest. "Who are you suppose to be?"

Stan panicked for a moment wondering if the first part of her sentence implied they looked cute _together_ or if it only indicated their costumes.

Kyle smiled, his old self starting to return. "Guess."

The nurse tilted her head to the side and squinted at them. She pointed at Stan.

"John Elway, right?" she laughed. Stan nodded, grinning sheepishly. Meredith turned to Kyle. She took a lot longer studying Kyle's costume. After about a minute, she shrugged.

"Uh…are you supposed to be Shakespeare?"

Kyle frowned. Stan just remembered they'd left his little golden telescope back at Bebe's party. Although a part of Stan guessed that the nurse would have still gotten the answer wrong even if Kyle had had the prop.

"No. I'm Galileo Galilei," Kyle corrected with a tried expression crossing his face. He pulled open his cloak. "Here look."

The nurse marveled at the sewn stars, and then Kyle turned to Stan and told him he was ready to leave. They walked out of the clinic arm in arm. Stan still didn't trust Kyle to keep his balance.

"Fuck, my head hurts," Kyle moaned, pressing his palm to the side of his head. Stan offered him the cold pack. Kyle took it without a word and held it against his temple. He glanced sideways at Stan. "Your teammates suck ass, dude."

Stan bit his lip. "I can't believe they got so out of hand. I'd been telling them for weeks I didn't want to join their stupid frat."

"Stupid people aren't good listeners," Kyle noted. "That and those friends of yours don't seem like the types who know how to think for themselves."

Stan forced a laugh. "They aren't really my friends." Not anymore, Stan added making the mental note to beat the ever loving shit out of Bo the next time he saw him.

Kyle looked up at him confused. "I thought you were friends with your whole team."

"Are you friends with everyone in your Physics Club?" Stan countered.

"Ah, good point. I just thought the football players were like always on good terms. Like they all thought of each other like family or something lame like that."

Stan tightened his hold around Kyle as they stepped off a curb and crossed the street. A car raced behind them with its windows rolled down and students shrieking from the passenger seats.

"No, dude," Stan continued, "I'm friends with lots of the guys, but for the most part the coach just demands we respect one another."

Kyle gave him a look.

"Don't worry, I'm going to kill those three the next time I see them. Probably'll turn them in to coach for fighting," Stan assured his friend. He gave Kyle a one armed hug, pulling his friend close to his chest.

"You're going to be okay, right?"

Kyle shoved him away, laughing. "Of course. Worse has happened to me, dude."

This was true. Stan had lost count of all the times Kyle had gotten hurt, sick, or humiliated. Of course Stan had about the same list of misfortune for himself, but Kyle's misadventures seemed to burn in Stan's memory a lot brighter.

"Can we go back to the party?" Kyle asked, nudging Stan in the side with his elbow. Kyle hadn't yet made any comment about Stan's prolonged one armed hug.

"Shouldn't you lie down?"

"I'm okay."

Stan frowned. "You sure?"

"Dude."

Stan caved. "Alright."

* * *

><p>When they returned to the party, Stan and Kyle found their friends sitting around the sorority house's living room, sprawled over couches and curled upon overstuffed armchairs. Only Cartman and Kenny remained of the party members. Bebe and Wendy lay together now wig and costume-less in one ugly brown chair. Bebe played with Wendy's hair as the girl flipped through text messages on her phone. The television was on, but no one seemed to pay it any attention except for Kenny who stared drowsily at Linus waiting in a pumpkin patch with Sally.<p>

Bebe noticed the boys first.

"Kyle!"

Suddenly everyone, but Cartman, surrounded the redhead, pestering him on how he felt. Stan took the opportunity to drape an arm around Kyle's shoulder and steer him to a nearby chair. Bebe tugged at Kyle's sleeve.

"You want me to get you something to drink?" she asked.

Kyle shook his head.

Wendy turned to Stan. "What did the clinic say?"

"He's okay. Just a bad bruise. No concussion or anything."

"That's good."

Stan glanced around. "So, uh, what happened to the party?"

Wendy rubbed her forehead. She sighed, "Over."

Stan's shoulders fell. Kyle twisted around in his chair to face Wendy. He looked devastated.

"What? But we're all still here. Can't we just continue the party?"

"Everyone went home," Bebe explained, muting the television. Kenny gave her a frown, but moved to an opposite corner to fish in his jacket pocket. He produced a cigarette and excused himself outside.

"But we can still have a party with just us, right?" Kyle pressed. Cartman snorted.

"This isn't a party anymore," he scoffed. He was still wearing his black suit with his hair white with make-up.

"Who are you suppose to be, Cartman?" asked Stan.

"The devil," Wendy answered, setting out cups of apple cider for Stan and Bebe, Kyle too despite his protest. Cartman glared at the girl from across the room.

"I'm not the devil, bitch," he snapped.

"Could have fooled me."

"Who is he really?" Stan said, taking a sip of the spicy cider.

Cartman puffed out his chest. "Ronald Reagan."

"So, the devil," quipped Kyle, smirking. "I'm not surprised."

Cartman snatched the remote off the coffee table and turned up the volume, changing the station to a loud concert. He crossed his arms over his wide chest ignoring his friends.

Kyle shrugged, leaning towards Stan. Resting his head against his friend's shoulder, Kyle sighed, "At least it's not Hitler."

Stan sputtered on his cider, as Kyle pressed himself closer. Rubbing his forehead, the redhead complained about his headache. Stan offered to take him home, but Kyle refused. He wanted to do something exciting for their first 'party-night' at college. Stan chuckled.

"Dude, you hate partying shit," Stan noted. Kyle frowned at him. Stan didn't understand Kyle's need for the college nightlife all of a sudden. If you had asked Stan what Kyle's favorite pastimes included, he would have answered something along the lines of studying, reading, listening to music, and hanging out with Stan. Other than that, Stan couldn't fathom Kyle enjoying wild partying or large crowds of any sort.

"Okay, but you do, right? You like hanging out with everyone," Kyle asked, peering at his friend closely.

The truth was Stan liked hanging out with large groups of people only if Kyle was at his side. For the most part, Stan was a pretty shy individual, preferring to settle in the background, than join in with the crowd. He had always thought Kyle better at handling trite and forced conversations needed at large get-togethers. Kyle had proven time and again to Stan that he could easily slide in and out of impersonal, petty exchanges effortlessly with complete strangers. Stan credited this to Kyle's gentlemanly status of course.

"Not really, dude," Stan confessed finally. "I mean I like hanging out now, with just our friends." He gestured to the girls and Cartman. He also indicated Kenny when he sauntered in from the backdoor; taking his place next to Cartman.

"Oh," Kyle looked thoughtful for a moment. "I guess I just thought you'd want to do something exciting. Like an adventure," Kyle chuckled. Stan smiled.

"I do enjoy a good adventure every now and then, dude," Stan agreed, placing an arm around Kyle's shoulder and touching his friend's temple where a large bruise blossomed against his pale skin. "I think, however," Stan began, "you've had enough adventure for one night."

"You guys are such fags," Cartman shot, as he leaned over the coffee table to grab a handful of mini candy bars from a pumpkin-shaped bowl. Stan blushed and slid his arm away. Kyle narrowed his eyes and gave Cartman a glare, making no move to scoot away from his best friend.

"Shut up, Fatass."

"Make me, Jew."

Stan wondered for a moment if Kyle might take up the challenge, but instead the redhead remained seated, leaning against Stan. In fact, as if to annoy Cartman further, Kyle snuggled closer to Stan's side, resting his head under Stan's chin. Cartman made a disgusted face, and Kyle laughed.

"Fine be fags, see if I care." Cartman stuffed a whole candy bar into his mouth, chewing noisily.

"I'm not a fag, asshole," Kyle scoffed his head still against Stan's chest. Stan felt his face grow redder as the seconds passed. He mentally tried to count them, do a tiny celebration inside his head at the idea that Kyle had been touching him this way for the past two minutes.

"You know, Eric," Wendy spoke up, "You've been acting like a real ass ever since you got here. What the hell's your problem? Can't you just enjoy an evening with friends?"

Eric paused in unwrapping another snack. He eyed the girl with a mixture of annoyance and something else Stan couldn't understand, yet, at the same time found hauntingly familiar. He was reminded of himself suddenly and strongly.

"I saved your bitchy ass from getting hit and you don't even say thank you. So excuse me for not jumping with joy at your half-assed Halloween party," Cartman scoffed, returning to his candy. He took a bite and chewed, speaking around the chocolate, "I could have let that asshole knock you out like the Jew. In fact, I should have."

Wendy clasped her hands in her lap, she blinked several times staring down at his entwined fingers. Her brow was furrowed, and she seemed in deep thought. Bebe opened her mouth to retort, but Wendy beat her to it.

"I guess I'm sorry, Eric," she said quietly. "I didn't realize I hadn't thanked you properly. You did a very brave thing for me. Thank you."

She stood up and crossed the room standing in front of the heavyset young man. She offered her hand for Cartman to shake.

"Thank you for looking out for me…like a true friend."

Stan saw Cartman flinch at the word friend. The small spasm didn't last long, and Cartman stood up too. He grabbed the girl's hand and gave her fingers a tight squeeze. Wendy smiled benignly up at him. He frowned.

"I'm outta here. See you assholes tomorrow." With that said Cartman crossed the room in a few long strides and left the house. The door slammed behind him. Wendy remained in the middle of the room looking both confused and slightly hurt. The emotions lingered on her face for a few short moments and then with a shake of her head she turned to Bebe.

"We can still have a party with just the five of us. Let's play some music."

Bebe nodded and hopped up to rifle through her CD collection. Kenny turned away from the television.

"Can't I finish my show first?" he asked, pointing at Charlie Brown wearing his holey, ghost costume.

"Dude, it's not like you don't know what's going to happen," Stan chuckled. Kenny gave him a sheepish look.

"I've never seen this cartoon before."

Stan and Kyle blinked at each other and then turned back to Kenny.

"What?" Stan asked.

"Seriously?" Kyle snorted. "You're pulling our leg right?"

Kenny looked from one friend to the other. Bebe paused in examining her CDs, and Wendy gave a small giggle as if unsure Kenny were telling a joke.

"Dude, you've never watched Peanuts?" Kyle asked, moving away from Stan for the first time, and sitting next to the orange-hooded boy.

"Does the Great Pumpkin ever come?" Kenny asked. "I hope it does."

Stan didn't know why Kenny asking that particular question would make his stomach flip flop, but it did. It was one of those rare occasions that lay bare Kenny's poor, dysfunctional home life and scattered childhood. What kind of kid hadn't seen a Charlie Brown holiday special?

"Uh…" Kyle looked from Stan to the girls. No one caught his eye. "Not in this one. B-but in another special, Kenny. Eventually Linus sees the Great Pumpkin."

Stan didn't know why Kyle was lying to Kenny, and yet, if Stan couldn't help but think he'd have done the same.

"Aw, man," Kenny moaned, leaning back on the couch. "It never comes at all? Not even once?"

Kyle shook his head. "No. Sorry."

"That sucks. That Linus kid kept going on and on about it. I wanted to see what he actually looked like this Great Pumpkin thing."

"You'll just have to wait for the other special, dude," Kyle lied trying to smile. He clapped Kenny on the shoulder and went to help Bebe pick out music. Stan watched Kenny lean down and grab the remote, clicking off the television. He lay back against the armrest and closed his eyes. He frowned up at the ceiling.

Stan moved to stand behind Kyle.

"Dude, why did you lie to him?"

Kyle bit his lip, keeping his eyes focused on the music labels. "I – I don't know. I know it's not right to lie. It's so stupid, but…. I just couldn't. It was weird. He sounded just like a little kid."

Stan nodded. Bebe murmured her agreement with Kyle.

"Besides," Kyle said, straightening up with a CD clutched in his hand, "I believe in the Great Pumpkin."

Stan blinked, not sure he heard correctly. "Uh…what?"

"I'm sure him and Mr. Hankey are good friends. Santa too," Kyle said conversationally.

"Yeah, sure."

Stan wasn't sure if Kyle was trying to mess with him or if he actually believed what he had said. Stan didn't dwell on it long; Bebe had found music that satisfied her taste and had turned on her stereo, cranking the volume up. A steady rhythm echoed from the speakers. Wendy jumped from her seat and began dancing with Bebe. They entwined their fingers and shuffled back and forth, jumping and cavorting to the music. Not trying to dance with any proper instruction, the girls circled the room and moved together singing along with the lyrics at the top of their lungs. They pressed close together kissing each other's cheeks and then lips. Bebe twirled Wendy like a ballet dancer and then dipped her; long black hair swinging in time to the music. Stan laughed at their antics. With just the five of them, all formalities faded, and they just had fun.

"That's not fair," Kenny called from the couch, his eyes still closed.

"What's not fair, hun?" Bebe asked, as she spun past the couch with Wendy. They giggled as they tripped on the carpet.

"I ain't got a chick to dance with. Both of you are taken."

Bebe rolled her eyes and tugged Kenny up by the hood. She placed her right arm around his waist and grabbed his right with her left. He frowned.

"Wait a minute, you're leading?"

She giggled. "Yep."

They swept around the room awkwardly, feet and legs fumbling to keep in time. Both Kenny and Bebe were fairly lanky, and their dance moves looked more like a jumble of limbs tangling. Wendy clapped for them, rocking back and forth on her heels. Stan wondered if he should ask her to dance, but a bigger part of him wanted to ask Kyle. Would it be weird? Could he pass it off as a goofy, super-best-friend gesture? Stan decided to try.

Kyle still knelt beside the stereo, picking over the CDs. Stan tapped him on the shoulder. Putting on a stupid grin, Stan asked him to dance. Kyle laughed good-naturedly. He allowed Stan to take his hand and hold him around the waist. They spun around the room, not too quickly, however; Stan still worried about Kyle's head injury and wanted to make sure he didn't make his friend too dizzy.

When a slow song started, Kyle wrapped his arms around Stan's neck and pressed his face against Stan's shoulder. Panicking as heat swarmed his body, Stan tried to push Kyle back, but his friend didn't understand the gesture. Instead, Kyle swung away from Stan, still holding one hand, and then spun back to Stan's chest, allowing the older boy's arms to wrap around him.

"Oh, Mr. Stanley, you're such a wonderful dancer," Kyle joked, laughing with his cheeks red. Stan tried to chuckle.

"You too," he managed to croak out, as Kyle wrapped himself closer. They shuffled through a few more lines of the song, before Wendy appeared behind them and tapped Stan's shoulder.

"Can I cut in?" she asked as a new, silly, and fast-paced song started. Stan thought she wanted to dance with him, and was surprised when the girl tugged Kyle out of his grasp and led him away across the room.

Kenny jumped in front of Stan.

"Want to dance, dude!" It wasn't a question; Kenny took hold of Stan before he could protest, and spun him out onto the dance floor. Bebe stood in the corner sipping cider.

Despite the upbeat notes of the song playing, Kenny wrapped his arms around Stan preparing for a slow dance. Stan found himself in the girl's position, while Kenny led.

"So, Stan, how are you and Kyle?"

Stan glared, not wanting to steer the conversation anywhere towards Kyle while he was talking to Kenny.

"Good I guess. I'm just glad he didn't get hurt too bad," Stan said, keeping his eyes away from Kenny's. The orange-hooded boy pulled Stan closer.

"You two looked cute dancing," Kenny confessed with a snigger. Stan could smell the cigarette smoke drifting off of Kenny's breath. At one time Stan had found this sexy, now with Kenny teasing him about Kyle, he found it gross. Especially as thoughts of Kenny wrapping himself around Kyle in Stan's bunk bed wavered in the black haired boy's memory.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Stan lied; his face and neck heating up. Kenny smirked.

"Really now?" Kenny asked, with an eyebrow raised.

"Yep."

Kenny's hand which clung around Stan's waist slipped lower. Stan gave him a look and Kenny readjusted his grip.

"What I thought you'd like that, Stanley?"

"Not from you."

"But Kyle?"

Stan kept his lips shut. They danced closer to Wendy and Kyle; the two seemed to be in deep conversation. It appeared Wendy was telling Kyle something truly exciting; at least that's what Stan thought based on the way Kyle was nodding his head up and down with his eyes bright. Kenny gave Bebe a wink as they passed her, and she waved.

"No…." Stan finally said. Kenny raised an eyebrow.

"No, you wouldn't want Kyle to touch you like that?" Kenny asked.

"No – maybe – yes...I don't know." Stan ducked his head. Kenny smiled kindly.

"Why are you scared, dude? Just grow a backbone and tell him. It's not like he'll hate you or anything. Frankly, if I were him I'd be flattered the school's quarterback was asking me out."

Stan looked up sheepishly. "You really think he won't be – weirded out?"

"Nope."

Stan glanced at Kyle laughing with Wendy. Kenny nudged him in the side.

"If you don't do it now, someone else might."

Stan narrowed his eyes. "Like you?"

Kenny blinked taking in the comment. He threw back his head and laughed. Clapping Stan on the shoulder he said, "Good one, Stanley."

"What? You're always messing with him. Like the other night when you were…holding him in my bed," Stan rushed out, his teeth gritted. Kenny shook his head.

"Nah, dude, he ain't my type," Kenny explained. "Especially 'cause he's lacking in this general area." Kenny motioned to his chest and curved his hands to indicate breasts. Stan forced a laugh; he'd never figure out Kenny. One minute the young man would be trying to feel up Kyle or even Stan, while the next he was longing over a fine pair of breasts in his Playboys.

"Dude, are you like…bi? Like Wendy?" Stan asked curious, but nervous that he was prying too far into his friend's personal life. Although, nothing appeared to be too personal for Kenny McCormick to handle.

"I'm whatever I want to be, dude," Kenny stated giving Stan a wink. Without hesitation, Kenny leaned in and pecked Stan on the lips, before turning on his heel and marching out of the room.

Stan felt his heart leap into his throat as he spun around to check who had seen the kiss. Fortunately, Kyle and Wendy were bent over a colorful flyer making notes on a piece of notebook paper. Bebe had just returned to the room carrying another glass of cider. She smiled at Stan as she walked by.

"Want to go to the Astronomy tower?" she asked. Stan stared. Bebe continued, nodding towards Wendy and Kyle, "Apparently some party's being thrown by the Astronomy Club. Kyle and Wendy want to check it out."

Stan shrugged. "Uh, sounds good."

Kyle approached with Wendy. "Dude, so you want to go?" He held up the flyer for Stan to read. Stars, moons, and planets hovered around an old looking astronomy building with its telescope raised towards the heavens. The party started in half an hour. It was to be an open house with free candy to all those who could answer fun astronomy and Physics questions.

Stan smiled. The whole thing sounded so nerdy and Kyle-like. He instantly wanted to go just to see Kyle try and outsmart the party's hosts.

"How far is it to the Astronomy tower?" asked Bebe sipping her cider. Wendy looked skyward for a moment as she calculated.

"About a fifteen minute walk from here. If we leave now we'll make it just in time," she explained. She headed towards the stairs. "Come on, Bebe, let's put our costumes back on before we go."

Stan and Kyle were left alone in the living room. Kyle took the flyer from Stan and reread it. Stan gazed from the staircase in the corner to the backdoor Kenny had exited out of, probably to have another cigarette outside.

"Dude, do you think you can walk all that way? You're head doesn't hurt too bad, does it?" Stan asked, touching Kyle's temple briefly. His fingers seemed to burn, and he dropped his hand quickly before Kyle could register the heat.

Kyle shook his head.

"No, I'm good. Really, dude." Kyle smiled up at him, and Stan felt his hands shake and sweat collect on his brow. He wanted to touch Kyle again. No, needed to. He needed to tell him how he felt. Now. He had to tell him.

Seconds ticked by, and Stan's tongue stayed glued to the roof of his mouth. His stomach twisted and he felt his lungs tighten. He couldn't breathe.

Eventually, Kyle frowned and tugged at the sleeve of Stan's football jersey.

"You look a little green, Stan. You aren't sick are you? I mean if you want to head back to the dorm, I'll understand. I just thought it would be cool to go to the Astronomy tower to see the stars. It's a pretty clear night too, only a few clouds. And the flyer says they'll have the telescope out."

To emphasize his point, Kyle waved his own little golden telescope back and forth. Kyle's eyes were wide and his lips twitched their way into a smile. It was now or never, Stan told himself. He leaned down; his face getting closer and closer to his friend's, whose gaze had turned back on the colorful blue and yellow flyer.

No one was around. It would be so easy to just –

Stan felt his stomach heave upward. His vision swam. He clamped a hand over his mouth and stumbled backwards. Kyle's head jerked up.

"Dude? What's wrong?"

Stan shook his head and bolted for the nearest restroom. Inside, he threw himself to the floor beside the toilet and vomited the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl. Kyle appeared at the doorway with a horrified expression covering his face. He ran to Stan's side and placed an arm around Stan's shoulder. Stan wished he hadn't, it only made his stomach protest and churn that much harder.

"Stan, are you okay?

Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Stan managed to croak out a feeble 'yeah'. Kyle rubbed his back soothingly.

"Do you need to lie down? Want to head home?"

Stan shook his head. "No." He got to his feet. "No, dude, I'm okay now. That – uh – cider must not have set well with me. That's all."

"You sure?"

Stan grinned. "Hey, if you can get a blow to the head and be fine, then I can throw up and be totally cool too."

Kyle patted his shoulder, still not looking completely convinced. "Alright…."

Bebe and Wendy appeared at the door dressed once again as their respective Sailor Scout.

"What's wrong?" Bebe asked, holding her hands up to her face in concern.

Kyle jerked his thumb at Stan. "He threw up."

Wendy raised an eyebrow. "You threw up? I haven't seen you eat anything but a cookie tonight."

Stan felt his face grow red for the millionth time that night as the girl's eyes bore into him. She knew. In that instant as their eyes locked, Wendy knew. She glanced from Kyle whose hand rested gently on Stan's elbow to Stan's sweaty, green-tinged face. She tried not to smile as she turned away from the boys.

"He's fine, Bebe. Come on, if we don't leave now we'll arrive too late for the trivia games."

* * *

><p>Out on campus the group of friends strolled along the well lit sidewalks, heading west towards the residential area that surrounded the college. Reaching a vacant gas station, Wendy and Bebe paused to check both ways before crossing the road. Several cars passed by, and honked as their headlights swept over the girls in their Scout uniforms. Wendy raised her hand and flipped off the motorists, while Bebe made an obscene gesture with her arms. Stan and Kyle roared with laughter behind them.<p>

Kenny had disappeared, and he had no cell phone for them to stay in contact. After Kyle had pinned a note to the doors of the living room for Kenny to find if he returned, the four friends had left to find the Astronomy tower.

They had been walking for about fifteen minutes after they left Bebe's sorority house. Bebe had spotted a black cat and kneeling down tried to get it to come closer. Kyle stood at her side hissing about all the possible diseases and germs the feline possibly carried. Wendy dropped back to stand next to Stan. She played with the hem of her skirt, smoothing and pressing it down. She kept her eyes on the ground as she spoke.

"So, how's the stomach, Stanley?"

"Fine."

"Really?"

Stan tugged at his collar. He made a great show of watching the traffic light change from green to yellow.

"Have you told him yet?" asked the girl, now primping her blue-green wig. She flipped the curls, trying to get them to settle just right. Stan checked his watch.

"Told who what?"

Wendy raised her head and glared at Stan. He took a step back and gave a quick glance at Bebe and Kyle. The blonde girl had managed to catch hold of the cat and was now petting it. She kept calling it Luna. Kyle panicked beside her, naming off every bacteria and allergen he could think off the top of his head.

"Stan," Wendy said in a steady voice. "I know you. We dated for almost half our lives. I know when you like someone, okay? I've got firsthand experience."

Stan bit his lip, finally turning to face her. She gave him a small grin and patted his arm.

"You should tell him how you feel. It's not as hard as you think," she whispered taking a step closer. She placed a small hand on Stan's elbow.

"I know," Stan mumbled. "I just haven't found the right time yet. I keep getting distracted."

Wendy raised an eyebrow. "Distracted?" She didn't sound like she believed him. Heck, he didn't believe himself.

"I was really nervous asking Bebe out," Wendy confessed. Stan blinked.

"Really? But you aren't scared of anything."

Wendy smiled. "You're such a sweetheart, Stan," she sighed. "I was scared. First, I didn't know if this was real, you know? All our lives we're bombarded with this idea that if you're a girl you like boys and if you're a boy you like girls. You convince yourself that's how it's supposed to be even though you know otherwise."

Wendy took a step closer and leaned into Stan's ear. "I had convinced myself that my previous crushes on other women had been simple admiration. Which was true in some parts, but not in others. I had convinced myself I wasn't gay. I liked guys. I had dated you. So I told myself 'you are straight.'

"And you're bi…?" Stan asked, not sure he felt comfortable discussing his ex-girlfriend's sexuality.

"Yes. I realized that was okay. I didn't have to fit myself into one category. I could be both," Wendy grinned up at Stan. She leaned up and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek. "Don't worry so much, Stanley. Kyle will always be your 'Super Best Friend.'

_I'm whatever I want to be, dude, _Kenny had said. Stan gave a weak smile.

"You're right, Wendy."

She flipped a strand of her blue-green wig and smirked.

"Of course."

It was a long trek to the Astronomy tower. Much longer than Kyle had anticipated. He began to complain about his shoes, then about the cold and how his cloak didn't give him enough warmth. Stan hated that he hadn't brought a coat to offer Kyle. He was perfectly warm in his full football gear and Broncos jersey. Stan imagined giving Kyle his letterman jacket to wear. It would be too big of course. Kyle would look swamped in it, appearing smaller than he already was, his hands barely peeking out of the sleeves.

Stan's fingers twitched in need to touch Kyle again. Stan's stomach gurgled.

"Hey," Bebe whipped around and jabbed her finger into Kyle's chest, "you are not allowed to complain about being cold. Look at what the fuck we're wearing. Plus heels!"

Kyle shrunk from her touch. "Please don't touch me with the hand that touched that cat."

Bebe rolled her eyes and moved to face front again. She caught hold of Wendy's hand, entwining their fingers. Wendy looked over her shoulder at Kyle and swung her clasped hand back and forth.

"Yeah," Wendy backed her girlfriend up, tugging at her short skirt. "Only people in skirts can complain about the cold."

"Okay, you win," Kyle caved, huffing.

Eventually, they came to another corner and waited for traffic to die down. As a truck, filled with high school aged kids drove past, the windows rolled down and a few teens hung out over the side of the vehicle. They raised their fists in some kind of celebration. One pointed at Stan.

"ELWAY! FUCK YEAH!"

Wendy and Bebe fell upon each other shrieking with laughter. Kyle smiled.

"That's like the fifth time tonight someone's recognized your costume, dude," he said.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck. "Dude, I can't believe people like it that much. I don't even look like Elway. It's so stupid."

The girls were sprinting across the street already; Kyle didn't look at Stan when he replied.

"Yeah, pretty stupid."

* * *

><p>To be continued...<p>

Feel free to point out any mistakes I made while writing. I'm really out of it today.

Thanks for reading. Review if you would like! :D


	4. Who Are You Supposed to Be?

I finished chapter four. I believe we're half-way through the story now. I'd planned on ten chapters, but not sure I'll make it that far. We're also starting to get into the 'heart' of what I'm trying to accomplish with this story.

The astronomy tower excursion is actually based on something I did with my friends Sophomore year of college for Halloween (minus the Saturn stuff, although that was later on in a Moons & Planets class I took). I wore really bad shoes and complained the whole way.

**Summary:** College can be a time for academic achievement for many, unsupervised partying for others, and a chance to discover who you really are to the world. Or to your best friend. Stan Marsh's first Halloween as a college Freshman leads him on a long night's journey of understanding into the inner workings of a Super Best Friendship.

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Style

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park. This is simply for fun and writing practice.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four – Who Are You Supposed to Be?<br>**

The college's astronomy tower wasn't so much a tower, but a two story, two roomed building. It was circular in shape with a wide set of stairs leading up to the front entrance. Located in the heart of a neighborhood filled with professors' homes, the tiny tower was surrounded by a ring of muted light cast from porch lamps from nearby houses. At the center of the large cul-de-sac, the tower stood in semi-darkness, its roof open to gaze upon the stars.

When Stan, Kyle, Wendy, and Bebe reached the building they caught sight of several students of the Astronomy club. Two girls and a boy dressed in doctor and mad scientist costumes greeted Kyle and Wendy. A young man dressed as Luke Skywalker passed out little info cards to each of them. Stan examined his and tried to make heads or tails of the physics jargon, but ended up discreetly discarding it into the trash. Bebe looked just as confused as he did, staring down at her own little piece of paper. Meanwhile, Wendy had found another Sailor Scout and was dragging her towards Bebe, pulling out a camera from her shoulder bag.

"Isn't this cool, Stan?" Kyle asked clutching his own info sheet.

"This isn't really a party, dude." And it wasn't. The only people attending the so called party were the club members. They lounged about the first floor room, sitting around an old wooden desk and strange, contorted steel mechanisms hidden behind glass. At that moment a few children appeared at the foot of the steps and were greeted by the club members.

"Hello!" cried one tall, lanky girl with wide glasses and wearing a bumblebee costume. She shook the children's hands and handed them some flyers which were a lot more colorful than the ones Stan and his friends had received.

"Hi," mumbled some of the kids shyly. One little boy wore a cowboy costume. He clung to a taller girl who was dressed as an astronaut.

"Can anyone name all the planets?" asked a club member. "If you get it right you'll get this king sized candy bar!"

Several of the kids started hopping up and down with their hands stretched up high into the air. Stan chuckled as two boys fought each other for the top step, trying to get closer to the club member with the candy.

Kyle tugged on Stan's jersey.

"Dude, follow me." Slipping his hand into Stan's, Kyle tugged his friend towards a rickety set of wooden stairs. There was no railing, but the steps wrapped themselves around the room, hugging the wall. Kyle led Stan higher and higher. No lights shone from above.

Ducking his head, Stan clambered over the steps, trying to keep up with Kyle. Within the tight, closed-in space, Kyle maneuvered far easier than Stan in his bulky football uniform. Upstairs, they reached a vacant room; drafty with glassless windows and the roof yawning open towards the velvet coated skies.

Kyle walked over towards the telescope in the middle of the room. It was huge; a contraption of cogs, levers, and joints that Stan could not even begin to understand. Sure he could help his dad take apart a car engine, but this machine standing before him seemed so foreign, alien-like.

Climbing up a short stepladder, Kyle pulled out a small flashlight and trained the beam at the telescope. Feeling around in the half light, he turned several cranks, and Stan watched in awe as the giant telescope shifted lethargically around the room. Kyle positioned the end of the scope towards the open ceiling and then hopped down.

He grabbed Stan's hand and pulled him closer.

"Come on, Stan, you got to see it."

"What?"

"Saturn!"

"I can see Saturn from that thing?" Stan asked, pointing at the telescope. Kyle nodded, grinning like the children downstairs who had heard they might receive king-sized candy bars.

"You should hurry though," Kyle warned, pushing Stan towards the ladder. Stan took the steps two at a time and leaned against the machine with caution.

"Why do I got to hurry?"

"The clouds could cover it up soon. It's not as clear as I'd hoped it would be," Kyle explained, moving to stand with his friend on the ladder. They had to stand close to fit. For a brief moment Kyle teetered on the edge, his balance slipping, but Stan reached out and held him still. A second passed as they locked gazes, and Stan tightened his grip. Kyle smiled.

"Look through the lens, dude."

Stan did what he was told. He shut one eye and pressed the other into the eyepiece. He saw nothing but a blurry gray light. He frowned.

"Uh, I don't think it's working," he said pulling away. Kyle slipped in front of Stan and checked the lens too. He straightened up and began readjusting the levers. For a moment, Kyle stood right in front of Stan, squished between his friend's body and the astronomy instrument. Stan could feel Kyle brush against his chest and stomach in the dark.

"There," Kyle breathed, spinning around, now chest to chest with Stan. Another long pause echoed between them, before Kyle cleared his throat and said, "I think you can see it now."

He moved aside and let Stan slide past. Bending down once again, Stan peered into the telescope. It took him a moment for his eye to focus, but soon he found himself staring at Saturn. It was the strangest sight. At first Stan couldn't believe he was seeing the real thing. It looked too much like a drawing or even a dull-colored sticker. For the life of him, Stan would swear that someone had plastered a picture of the ringed planet at the end of the scope as some kind of trick.

"Is this real, dude?"

Kyle nodded. "Of course. What do you think you're looking at, the Death Star?"

Stan snorted, returning to the telescope. "This is really cool, Kyle. I never thought I could see a planet like this."

"Did you know Galileo was the first person to observe Saturn? Back in 1610."

Stan stepped away from the telescope. He turned to Kyle and smiled, shaking his head.

"What?"

"Just you…," Stan whispered. "I lo – I mean, I like how you've turned this into something educational…and about your costume."

Kyle crossed his arms.

"It's true though!"

"I didn't say I didn't believe you, dude. It's just cute." Stan let the word slip from his mouth before he'd realized it. Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"Cute? What's that suppose to mean?"

"I don't know."

"Oh…."

"Yeah."

"Okay, then."

Kyle pushed past Stan to reach the telescope again. He took his turn to view the planet, squinting up through the lens with a frown plastered across his face. Stan stood awkwardly behind him, feeling Kyle brush against his side in the small space.

"I guess it does look kind of fake," Kyle murmured, still looking at Saturn. "I mean it just looks so real, that you can't believe it's true. Isn't that weird?"

Kyle craned his head around to glance up at Stan. For a moment, Kyle's hair tickled Stan's nose.

"Yeah, totally weird. Something so real…yet you can't believe it is." Stan's fingers were dangerously close to Kyle's right hip. Raising his hand a few inches, Stan pretended to accidently bump his friend's lower back as he moved his hand to his hair, running his fingers through the mass of black strands. Kyle froze, and Stan cursed himself for his bravado.

A cacophony of voices drifted up the stairwell making the boys jump. Kyle wavered on the edge of the ladder's platform, but once again Stan held him steady. At that moment a crowd of children herded by some of the Astronomy club members made their way around the circular room and towards the telescope. Stan and Kyle hopped down without a word, exiting their now noisy hiding spot.

Back downstairs, Stan and Kyle found Wendy and Bebe sitting huddled together on the bottom of the entrance's stone steps. The girls clutched at each other's hands, fingers entwined to resemble one fist. For a brief moment Stan examined Wendy and Bebe's intimate embrace and felt a twist in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't look at Kyle because he knew if he did he might latch on to his friend in a similar manner and never let go.

"So what are we doing now?" asked Kyle, breaking the buzzing silence that had followed him and Stan from the top of the observatory to the ground.

Bebe peeked her head up. "I don't know what you two are doing, but we're heading back to the house. It's too cold."

"It is not," Kyle challenged, stopping himself from wrapping his own arms around his body for warmth. Stan even felt the chill through all the layers of his football uniform. A nice image flitted across his mind of holding Kyle close to keep warm under a large woolen blanket back at their dorm.

Wendy got to her feet still holding on to Bebe's hand. "We called Safe Ride," she explained. "That way we won't have to walk."

"I don't want to go home yet," Kyle pouted.

Bebe shrugged. "Well, do what you want, but we're going home to get warm."

At that moment a large van pulled up to the curb situated out in front of the tower. Lights flashed on top, and the school's mascot and logo were painted on the side of the van's door. Sitting in the driver's seat was Eric Cartman. He looked horrified for a moment as he realized who sat waiting for the ride. Kyle snorted.

"You drive the Safe Ride van, Cartman?"

Eric frowned, putting the van in park and stepping out.

"Shut up, Jew. I needed a job."

"And you chose this one?" said Stan, raising an eyebrow.

Wendy crossed her arms and turned to Bebe. She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I think I'd prefer to walk back."

Bebe forced a laugh, hoping her girlfriend was joking. Cartman stuffed his hands into his pockets and shuffled his feet.

"What I thought you liked this Safe Ride thing? Aren't you on the committee that keeps it up and running?" Eric shot, glaring at the girl.

"Well, yes…."

"So don't you want to hop in?"

"With you? Not particularly. "

"Aww, Wends, I'm cold!" Bebe started jumping in place, pulling at her skirt as if she could make the fabric somehow magically longer to cover her legs.

Cartman was climbing back into the van; he made to put the vehicle in drive, inching away from the curb. Wendy glared at the fat young man, cursing under her breath as Bebe wheedled in her ear.

"Fine! We'll get in the van!" Wendy snapped, marching over and yanking open the back door. Bebe clambered inside and settled herself in a seat behind Cartman. Eric stared straight ahead; Wendy huffed and pulled herself inside. She turned back to Stan and Kyle. She held the door open for them.

Stan looked at Cartman. The heavyset boy sat with his shoulders hunched and his fists grasping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. Stan felt a sudden wave of pity; it grew inside his chest and flowed out to his stomach and into his arms and legs. He looked back at Wendy who was now strapping herself into the vehicle, looking anywhere but at Cartman. As Kyle asked him if he wanted to get in too, Stan pretended not to hear. The image of Eric looking so dejected, averting his gaze from Wendy, stirred within Stan a very real fear. He could not help but feel he was glancing at his own reflection. Stan often averted his gaze from Kyle when he felt he wouldn't be able to control himself from wild daydreams or awkward touches. Cartman was doing the same thing for Wendy.

Wendy had Bebe now. Cartman had no one.

What if Kyle, like Wendy, found someone too? And what if, like Cartman, Stan was left avoiding his friend's gaze for the rest of his life.

Stan panicked, not making any move forward or back.

"Dude, do you want to head back too?" Kyle pressed, speaking louder. He nudged Stan in the side.

"N-no," Stan blurted out. "I'm not ready to head home yet."

"You sure?" asked Wendy hanging out of the van and clutching at the door's handle. Eric watched her in the rearview mirror. A brief moment his eyes glazed over as he examined Wendy, but when Bebe leaned out of the van too, her arm slipping around her girlfriend's waist, Cartman's face fell, his mouth forced into an impassive line. He blinked several times.

Stan made up his mind; he was not going to be like Cartman.

"Yeah, totally," Stan said, grinning. He flung an arm around Kyle and drew him close. "We'll find something exciting to do."

Kyle nodded. "We could go Trick-or-Treating…."

"You guys are such fags," Cartman barked from the driver's seat.

"Shut up, Fatass," Kyle retorted. "You're just jealous that we might get candy while you're off working on a Saturday night. We all know how tragic it is that you can't stuff your face with junk food twenty-four seven."

"Fuck you, Kahl."

Stan gave Kyle's shoulders' a squeeze. "Dude, leave him alone."

Kyle raised an eyebrow at Stan, but closed his mouth. Stan kept silent too. The word jealous had echoed through his head a little too soundly; Cartman was jealous, but not because of the candy. Stan knew that the hungry look Cartman now gave the two boys concerned not a want for food, but a want for the close embrace the two shared. Stan still held Kyle around the shoulders and in response Kyle's own arm had drifted to fit about Stan's waist. It was a simple, easy gesture that they had done countless of times, in front of many friends and family members. It was just how the two held each other in their own platonic fashion, but it seemed even that small of touch sent pangs of envy through Cartman's chest.

"Can we please go? I can't feel my legs," whined Bebe, sitting back down.

"Shouldn't have dressed like a skank, then," Eric mumbled. Wendy shot him a dirty look as she tugged the van door closed. She waved to Stan and Kyle through the window as the van turned in the cul-de-sac and sped off down the residential street. Stan and Kyle were left standing in front or the astronomy tower with the muffled light swimming around them.

"So, what do you want to do?" asked Kyle, extricating himself from his friend's hold.

"Can we look at Saturn again?" Stan asked softly, tugging at Kyle's cloak.

Kyle beamed. "Of course, dude. We'll just wait 'til the kids are done with it, and then we can try and find Saturn again. I could even show you a few stars too!"

Back inside the tower it wasn't any warmer. Marching back up the spiral steps, the boys waited on the edge of the telescope room as the children were ushered forward to gaze at the stars and planets. About two-thirds of the kids waited on the opposite wall, already having taken a turn at the scope. Four more children waited for their time behind the lens. A little boy hopped down from the ladder, and one of the Physics club members helped a small girl dressed as a knight clamber up to take her turn.

"Um, excuse me?" murmured a small voice beside Stan. Looking down, Stan found himself staring into two wide brown eyes set in a small face painted with tiger stripes. A little boy no more than ten gazed with his mouth hung open at Stan's football jersey.

Stan smiled. "Yes?"

"Are you supposed to be John Elway?" asked the boy. Stan nodded.

"Yep."

"So cool!"

Kyle stepped forward and pointed to himself. "Can you guess who I am? I'll give you a hint; he has something to do with the planet Saturn you just looked at."

Stan rolled his eyes.

"What?" Kyle snapped.

"Nothing." Stan lied.

The tiger boy scratched at his furry ears. "Uh…Leonardo Da Vinci?"

Kyle frowned and on spun his heel marching around the room to the opposite side. Stan sighed, pinching his nose.

"Did I guess wrong?" asked the kid.

"Yeah, little dude, you did."

"Who's he suppose to be, then?" the boy challenged, crossing his arms in a very Kyle-like manner. Stan smiled.

"Galileo. He's a really important dude when it comes to science and planets and stuff," Stan explained, watching Kyle out of the corner of his eye. The redhead had found another club member and had started up a conversation, gesturing at the telescope.

"Whatever," shrugged the boy, stepping back to join his little friends.

Stan moved around the room until he was at Kyle's side once more.

"So, Leonardo, will we get another chance at the telescope?" Stan asked, poking Kyle in the side.

"Shut up, Stan."

"What?"

"It's not funny."

"It's a little funny, dude."

Kyle turned on him with a glare. Stan shrunk into the cold, white wall.

"You know how long Bebe and I worked on this?" Kyle questioned pointing at his cloak.

"A couple of days…," Stan offered.

"Weeks!"

"Well, dude, you can't expect everyone to know who exactly you are. I mean, Galileo is kind of obscure. There are a lot of old scientist dudes who wore something similar." Stan hoped he was helping, but by the growing frown creeping across Kyle's lips, Stan guessed otherwise.

"How long did it take _you_ to put together your costume?" Kyle snapped. Stan blinked.

"Uh, I don't know. As long as it took me to put all this gear on, I guess." Stan knew as the words left his mouth he'd said the wrong thing.

"Exactly!" Kyle pressed, jabbing his finger into Stan's chest. "You did nothing! You just put on all this shit and that stupid jersey! And yet for whatever reason everyone knows instantly who you are! Even if they haven't read the back of your jersey!"

Stan bit his tongue. He thought back to the overcrowded truck filled with high school kids. They had called him John Elway in that quick moment as they drove past. They could not have seen the back of his shirt.

Stan raised his hands, palms up. "I don't know what you want me to do, dude. You wanted me to wear a costume. So this is what I did."

Kyle leaned against the wall and gazed away from Stan. Stan sighed. He knew Kyle was being childish. It wasn't the first time.

"Would you like me to take off the jersey?"

"Then you wouldn't have a costume."

"I could just go as myself. Put on my college jersey, if you wanted?"

Kyle didn't answer.

"I will if you want me to," Stan repeated, stepping closer to Kyle.

"You don't have to do that," Kyle mumbled.

"I would for you."

Kyle fidgeted with his tunic, smoothing it free of wrinkles. He pulled the cloak tighter around his shoulders.

"I can't make you do that."

"I'd _want_ to do it, Kyle."

Kyle bit his lip, his eyes narrowed. He seemed to be debating the offer, but thinking better on it, shook his head.

"Don't do that, Stan."

But Stan actually liked the idea of changing out of his heavy gear. He took Kyle's hand and pulled him towards the stairs.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked, allowing himself to be led.

"You might not want me to take off my costume, but I'm kind of sick of wearing all this heavy shit. So if you don't mind, we're heading back to the dorm. I want to change."

Kyle nodded without a word. Stan held his hand all the way back down the stairs. Waving to his friends in the Astronomy Club, Kyle assured them he would be back later. They took the front steps two at a time, jumping the last group in one long bound, their fingers still linked.

Hitting the ground at a decent sprint, the boys headed back towards campus.

* * *

><p>Back home in their dorm, Kyle sat patiently on the end of his bunk, waiting for Stan to undress. Less embarrassed about his own body than Kyle, Stan stripped off his jersey, gear, and uniform pants. He kicked his cleats into a corner of the room and then pulled open his closet door. He could see Kyle reflected in the mirror, staring at his bare back and boxer shorts. Selecting a crumpled pair of jeans from the floor, he wiggled into them and then found a clean shirt and hoodie to tug over his head. He pulled on his letterman jacket last. When he'd finished he turned around and faced Kyle. The redhead had still been staring and jumped a little at the sudden attention.<p>

"We should go Trick-or-Treating," Stan said, sitting down next to Kyle. Their thighs brushed.

"Dude, really?" Kyle asked his eyes lighting up. "I know I'll end up having to throw half of it away cause it's all too sugary, but I really hate not Trick-or-Treating on Halloween."

"Definitely." Stan agreed. He reached over and grabbed Kyle's pillow. Pulling off the cover he handed it to Kyle. He hopped up and reached for his own.

"Uh…do you mind if I use the cover off your extra pillow, Stan?" Kyle asked, tossing his pillow cover to the head of his bed.

"Okay, sure. Why though?"

"Don't want to get mine dirty."

"But you don't mind getting mine dirty?"

Kyle held out his hand, smiling. "Yep."

Stan rolled his eyes and yanked off the cover from his second pillow. He chucked it down on top of Kyle's head.

Pulling it away and readjusting his costume hat, Kyle grinned up at Stan.

"Can I ask you something, Stan?"

"Sure, dude, anything," Stan said. He folded up his pillowcase and tucked it into his letterman jacket pocket.

"Do you really think I'm cute?" Kyle laughed although his eyes remained locked on his friend.

Stan swallowed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Well, you are decent looking…."

"Decent?" Kyle mumbled his brow furrowing. Stan waved his hands back and forth.

"That's not what I meant – I mean – yeah you're pretty good looking, dude. I mean I do think your – I mean – I think lots of people would say you're cute or handsome or whatever. You know?"

Stan let out a high-pitched chuckle. He made a great show of picking up his room key and ID card and stuffing them into his back pockets. He buttoned his jacket and ran his fingers through his black hair. He looked anywhere but at Kyle.

"I think you look handsome too, Stan. A lot more than me, that's for sure," Kyle said, getting to his feet. He snatched up Stan's pillowcase and marched towards the door.

Stan shuffled behind him, so close he could smell Kyle's hair.

"You mean that?" Stan pressed.

"Of course."

Stan decided to try his luck, thinking back on Cartman's failure. "Would you say I'm hot?"

Kyle paused, his hand on the doorknob. He turned to face Stan, and the black haired boy flinched at his own stupidity. Why had he asked that?

"I-I don't know. I guess – yeah?" Kyle said. He looked perplexed, his brows furrowed as if he truly wasn't sure if he had answered correctly. Stan's shoulders slumped. A sudden thought flashed through Stan's mind. What if Kyle didn't reciprocate his feelings because he wasn't gay? What was Kyle? He and Stan had never had a conversation over their sexualities. Sure, Stan had dated Wendy in his youth, but for years now he'd been single, showing no sign of attraction towards anyone save Kyle. Did Kyle notice this?

Stan found himself trying to pinpoint Kyle's sexuality. In grade school Kyle had liked that little girl Rebecca. When Bebe got boobs, Kyle along with the rest of their grade had become entranced by the development. Kyle had also been dared to kiss Bebe once, but that, however, had resulted in Kyle bolting from the tree house and screaming at the top of his lungs. Stan realized, other than those few moments in their past, Stan had never seen Kyle show much affection towards anyone save friends and family. He had never dated anyone, boy or girl, in fact he never seemed to show any concern towards dating matters at all. Kenny paraded his girls in front of Kyle who seemed only politely curious about their well-being, Cartman called the redhead fag all the time which Kyle rarely countered if at all, and Stan, to his immense pleasure, was allowed to hug and touch him in platonic ways.

What was Kyle?

Maybe, Stan mused, Kyle was like Kenny. He could be whoever the hell he wanted to be.

And at the moment he'd chosen to be Galileo Galilei.

* * *

><p>Trick-or-Treating proved just as fun as Stan and Kyle remembered. Walking side by side down the narrow, cracked sidewalks surrounding the campus, the boys hit every lit house they came across. Soon they found their pillowcases stuffed with tiny chocolate bars, bags of jelly beans, and sour lemon candies. When Stan asked how Kyle, who had diabetes, would be able to eat most of the junk food, Kyle shrugged and said he'd give most of it away. He confessed to Stan, that he enjoyed Trick-or-Treating for the simple fact that he got to bother people late at night dressed in a ridiculous outfit.<p>

Most of the college neighborhood held large, many roomed houses filled with sororities and fraternities. Halloween colored streamers littered yards and trees while smashed pumpkins crowded the gutters of the streets. Parties were being held all over campus. Drunken calls and singing filled the night air. Stan wondered if his teammates had retreated to one of the houses for the night.

Arriving at their fourteenth house that night, Kyle sprinted up the walkway and rang the doorbell. Fake spider webs covered corners of the porch with plastic spiders dangling to the ground. A stuffed, pumpkin-headed scarecrow sat in a rocking chair next to the front door. Stan pulled himself up the steps and leaned against the railing as Kyle knocked on the door now. A porch light flickered on and the front door was tugged open.

A heavyset woman with red curls and a kind face smiled out at the boys. Stan thought she looked like a much friendly version of Mrs. Broflovski. She wore a black dress with green and black striped stockings. Her shoes sparkled with purple sequins.

"Hello! Hello!" she called pushing open the screen.

"Trick-or-Treat." Stan and Kyle chorused in unison, holding out their pillowcases for candy. The woman played her roll and, cackling, dropped a sweet in each bag.

"So, who are you two gentleman supposed to be?" she asked straightening up.

Kyle had grown tired of people incorrectly identifying him, but still found it necessary to ask the woman to guess.

She thought for a moment, tapping her chin with a thick, bejeweled finger. Her nails were about an inch long painted orange with little black cats peeking up from the tips.

"I see stars on your cape," she mused, pointing at the glow-in-the-dark patterns. Kyle's face brightened.

"Yep."

The woman frowned, thinking. She rested her chin in the palm of her hand, cupping her elbow with her other hand. A few seconds ticked by and Kyle fidgeted in place, his eyes wide and hopeful.

Finally the woman sighed, dropping her arms. "I'm sorry, dear. I just don't know. Why don't you tell me?"

Kyle's face fell, but he shrugged it off. "I'm supposed to be Galileo. Well, I tried anyway. No one's seemed to guess who I'm supposed to be so far tonight."

"I did," Stan blurted out. "I knew who you were supposed to be, dude."

"Yeah, like the only one," Kyle laughed. The woman nodded, tucking the bowl of candy under her arm.

"Well," she said, "it's still a wonderful costume, dear. You can see you've put a lot of work into it."

Kyle rubbed at the back of his neck. "My friend did most of the work."

"You pull it off very well," replied the woman moving towards the front door and opening the screen. She paused turning to Stan, "Um, and you're supposed to be…?"

"Stan Marsh."

The woman gave him a look, but ended up shaking her head and grinning.

"Well, Galileo and Stan, have a good night."

She waved them off, slipping back into her decorated house.

Stan and Kyle jumped off the porch and headed towards the opposite house. Kyle snorted to himself.

"What?" Stan asked, grinning. He nudged Kyle in the side.

"'I'm Stan Marsh'," Kyle said in a sing-song voice. Stan raised his hands.

"What?"

"You're such a dumb ass."

"Hey, I'm not the one walking around on a cold night in tights."

"Dude, quit checking out my legs."

"I'm not checking out your legs. I'm just pointing out that I'm not the one here acting silly."

Kyle hit him with his candy-filled pillowcase. "You think my costume's silly?" Kyle laughed.

He swung the bag again, but Stan was ready. He caught hold of it and tugged it towards him, knocking Kyle off balance and forcing him to stumble into Stan. As if by instinct, Stan wrapped his arms around Kyle and held him.

"Asshat," Kyle mumbled into his friend's chest. Stan chuckled, tightening his grip; Kyle squirmed.

"I don't think you costume's silly at all. You look perfect," Stan whispered into Kyle's hair. Kyle froze and Stan felt panic well into his chest. Had he said too much?

Dropping his arms, Stan stooped down and picked up Kyle's bag, handing it back. Kyle was staring at him now, and Stan kept his eyes focused on the sidewalk. Moving forward, Stan picked his way through a low bush and up onto the next house's front steps. Kyle followed quietly behind him.

"I think I'll give most of this candy to Kenny," Kyle mused, shaking the contents of his pillowcase. Stan knocked on a door covered in cut-outs of black cats and mummies.

"I'm sure he'll like that," Stan answered in a heavy voice. Kyle nodded.

"I'll ask him to eat it in front of Cartman."

"You're an asshole sometimes, you know that?" Stan forced a laugh. Kyle shrugged, standing now at Stan's side and watching the light's flick on inside the home.

Kyle shook open his bag, ready for more candy.

"Well, _Stan Marsh_, that's just who I am," Kyle explained.

Stan grinned, deciding to take a stab at the banter too.

"Never thought you were such a jerk, _Galileo_."

Kyle chuckled. Bolts inside were heard sliding away; locks clicked open. The redhead leaned into Stan, brushing their hips together.

"Oh, I can be lots of things, Stan Marsh," Kyle whispered. Stan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on in.

"Really? Like what?"

Kyle stood on his toes to breathe into Stan's ear.

"_Anything_."

At that moment the door jerked open. Stan and Kyle jumped apart to stare at the young man with white blond hair and thick square glasses. He frowned down at them, holding a bucket of candy.

A familiar voice from within the house hailed them.

"Hey, dudes!"

* * *

><p>To be continued...<p>

Thanks for reading. See you next chapter.

Feel free to review and comment.


	5. Death, Taxes, and Kenny

Woot I got this done before Wednesday. Oh my word, I cannot wait until tomorrow. :D

Anyway, this is chapter deviated from where I'd originally attended the story to go. Not sure if this is good or bad.

**Summary:** College can be a time for academic achievement for many, unsupervised partying for others, and a chance to discover who you really are to the world. Or to your best friend. Stan Marsh's first Halloween as a college Freshman leads him on a long night's journey of understanding into the inner workings of a Super Best Friendship.

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Style

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park. This is simply for fun and writing practice.

Please enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five – Death, Taxes, and Kenny<strong>

The first thing Stan noticed about Kenny's friends' house was that it smelled like weed and incense. Black, purple, and blue candles littered tables and chairs throughout the living room. Black bed sheets had been hung over the windows and boxes of empty Chinese take-out collected in shelf corners and along the staircases banister. A TV hummed in the corner, but only half of the room's occupants paid it attention. It was one of the university's homes for the students. They were small, scarce of whole and unbroken furniture, and had no cleaning crew for their upkeep. Stan rolled his eyes in amusement as he watched Kyle tiptoe around discarded pizza boxes, mystery stains in the carpet, and clumps of dirt and hair. The redhead's face was scrunched up in disgust as he found his way to the only article of furniture, an armchair, in the living room that didn't look infested with disease.

Stan was strongly reminded of Henrietta and her friends as Kenny introduced his small group.

"This is Samantha, Trish, and Caleb," he announced for Stan and Kyle's benefit. Kenny pointed first to a squat girl in fishnets, skirt, and monster truck t-shirt. Beside her sat a lanky girl with a scar on her upper left forearm and a boy wearing a pink striped shirt. The white-blond haired boy who'd answered the door sat down on a stool opposite the couch where everyone else rested. Kyle occupied the armchair now with Stan and Kenny perched on either armrest.

"So the party's officially over, huh?" Kenny asked handing each of his friends a bottle of soda. He had offered them beer, but Kyle had refused saying his head still hurt from earlier and he didn't want to mix his pain killers with booze. Kyle followed up the claim with popping another pill and swallowing it down with a long drought of his diet soda. Stan had followed Kyle's example and took his cola without a word.

"Yeah, after you left we headed to the Astronomy tower, but there wasn't a party," Stan informed.

"But you got to see Saturn!" Kyle interjected.

"Oh, yeah that was pretty cool."

Kenny smiled. "Did it look just like the pictures in books?"

"Yeah, it was so weird," Stan explained. "It looked fake, you know. I thought I was looking at some sticker someone had pasted to the front of the telescope."

Kyle nodded. "It looks really clear through the telescope."

"Could you see the rings?"

"Yeah!"

"Sweet!"

"You went to an Astronomy Club's party on Halloween?" asked the girl with the scarred arm. Her hair was cropped short and her nose looked pinched. Her face was a blank slate. She looked neither interested nor humored by the idea of the Astronomy tower. Kenny laughed at the question.

"You're talking to two of the best boys in South Park, Trish," Kenny joked, shoving Stan's shoulder in a playful manner. "These two don't get into trouble. It finds them and beats the shit out of them."

"It's true," Stan agreed, thinking back on South Park and wondering if his father had managed to burn it to the ground with the other adults yet.

Kyle shifted in his seat, crossing both his legs and arms. "The Astronomy Club did a wonderful job putting together their 'Moons and Planets' showing. It was for the neighborhood kids really."

"Still doesn't make for a good party," quipped the girl in the fishnets who was nicknamed Sam. The pink-shirted boy Caleb nodded.

"Anyway," Stan said a little too loudly, "why did you just leave, Kenny?"

"I needed more pot," Kenny replied bluntly. Stan and Kyle exchanged looks.

"Let me guess," spoke up the blond-haired boy, whose name was Alexander, for the first time, "you two don't do drugs because you think they're bad."

Kenny smirked. "Drugs are bad, m'mkay?"

Stan and Kyle snorted as the others looked on in confusion. A crooked grin spread over Kenny's face. He slumped down into the chair, sitting on Kyle's lap.

"Come on, Kyle, have a little fun," Kenny stage whispered, producing a joint from his pocket. "You're always so uptight. This will help you unwind."

Kyle shook his head. "No, thanks, dude."

"What are you scared?" asked Alexander, lighting up his own joint and taking a long drag.

"This is starting to sound like a bad 'After School' special," Stan mumbled, leaning back against the chair's headrest.

Kyle narrowed his eyes at Alexander. "I'm not scared. I already take too much medication as it is which leaves my head spinning. I don't need pot to feel high."

"What? Are you dying?" giggled Trish, rubbing at her scar.

"No, I'm just prone to illness."

Kenny tapped Kyle on the head, smiling at the others. "It's true. He once had AIDS."

Kyle frowned, his face growing pale with suppressed anger. It was one of those 'Cartman Moments,' as Stan and Kyle had aptly dubbed them, which the two had decided would never surface in conversation again. The Imaginationland incident was another one of those 'Cartman Moments' that would never see the light of day between Stan and Kyle too.

"I'm cured now, of course," Kyle added.

The four exchanged disbelieving looks. Stan wanted to laugh. He could understand their doubt. It was very hard to explain to someone the strange happenings that took place in South Park.

"Whatever you say, kid," murmured Alexander, resting his head on the wall as he blew smoke through his nostrils. He took another drag from his joint and stared at the ceiling.

Stan leaned down and whispered into Kenny's ear. He talked loud enough so Kyle could hear too.

"Dude, it's nice that we found out where the hell you went, but we got to go? Okay?"

Kenny wrapped an arm around Kyle's shoulders and buried his head in his friend's curly hair. For a moment Stan thought Kenny was going to fall asleep on his best friend.

"I don't want you to go," Kenny finally said. Kyle rolled his eyes.

"Your friends aren't really that exciting, Kenny," Kyle explained. "We'd rather get the fuck on our way."

Stan nodded in agreement, though he had wished Kyle had been a bit more tactful.

"You can come Trick-or-Treating with us, if you want?" Stan offered.

Kenny blinked a few times his eyes glazed over with a mixture of alcohol and weed induced fatigue. His eyes didn't seem to have the ability to focus, but he sat up and gave Stan a searching look.

"Why do you want me to tag along with you two? Don't you want to be…alone?" Kenny's lips crept into a wide grin, his teeth showing. Stan wanted to smack him.

"Why would we want to be alone?" Kyle scoffed, shifting under Kenny's weight.

"Kenny, just come with us okay?" Stan urged trying to pretend Kenny hadn't said something stupid. Kenny shrugged, pulling himself out of the chair.

"Why not, I want some candy."

Kyle took the opportunity to jump out of the seat, as if fearing Kenny might change his mind and sit on him again.

"What's going on?" asked Alexander. Kenny's other friends didn't seem to notice new movement had taken place.

"Going Trick-or-Treating," Kenny slurred, tripping his way across the room and grabbing his orange hooded sweatshirt off a post in the wall. He tugged it on over his head and scrambled back to Stan and Kyle. Both boys gave each other a worrying look. Kenny seemed a bit too tipsy for a nightly excursion.

"Um, so I guess we'll see you," Stan said to the four strange friends. They eyed him sleepily, but made no comment. Stan cleared his throat. "Er…nice to meet you all."

Kyle rolled his eyes and grabbing his and Stan's pillowcases of candy stomped towards the exit. Kenny followed the redhead without a word, leaning one way and then the other as he walked down the hall. Stan stayed close behind his friend fearing he might have to keep Kenny from falling flat on his face.

Just as Kyle yanked open the front door, Kenny slammed it shut, reaching over Kyle's head to do so.

"What the fuck, dude?" Kyle snapped. Kenny frowned.

"I don't have a costume."

Kyle blinked. "What?"

"I need a costume to go Trick-or-Treating," Kenny explained. Stan chuckled.

"Dude, I'm not wearing a costume and the neighbors still give me candy."

"I want a costume."

Kyle sighed, turning to Stan.

"We could throw a bed sheet over his head?" he mused, gazing at the staircase that led to the second floor of the dirty house.

"Don't want to be a ghost. I'll only get rocks in my bag instead of candy," Kenny slurred, leaning on Stan for support now. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. He was beginning to regret inviting Kenny along.

"Do your friends have a costume you could borrow?" Kyle asked skeptically examining the pot smoking group. Kenny shook his head.

"Then what are you going to do?" Stan questioned. Part of him wanted to see if Kenny would magically produce a costume. He could be anything he wanted, after all.

Slumping his shoulders, Kenny moved back into the house. He walked past the living room and its pot smoke riddled occupants. Stan and Kyle trailed after him and found themselves in a greasy kitchen with dishes stacked in the sink and the table covered in dirty laundry. Kyle made a muffled noise in his throat as he gazed at the pile of garbage bags sitting next to the door.

"Kenny, how do these people live here?" Kyle whispered, keeping his arms close to his sides and not touching anything. Stan rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but feel a little nauseous at the state of the house.

Kenny took a minute to sort out Kyle's question. "I guess they just do. Not everyone freaks out about a little dirt like you do, Broflovski."

Kyle's eyes grew wide. "_This_ is a little dirt?" he hissed.

Kenny shrugged as he jostled open a kitchen drawer. From inside he snatched up a black permanent marker. Without a word he popped open the cap and began drawing on the front of his hoodie. It proved a difficult task drawing upside down, but after a few quick lines and some shading, Kenny had managed to draw a jack-o-lantern face on the front of his sweatshirt. With the black on orange, Kenny had made a perfect make-shift Halloween costume.

Throwing the marker back into the drawer, Kenny beamed at his friends.

"Now, I can go Trick-or-Treating!"

* * *

><p>Letting Kenny lead had proven a bad idea, Stan realized too late that night. Claiming he knew a short cut to another neighborhood, Kenny had steered his friends through a thick wooded area. Dead leaves decayed in heavy layers, bushes snagged at their clothes, and large branches hindered their way. Stan, who was wearing sneakers and jeans, didn't find the trek too treacherous; Kyle, on the other hand, began to complain the second after his foot slipped into a puddle of mud and dead grass.<p>

"Fuck, Kenny, where the hell are we going?" Kyle snapped, wrapping his cloak around him to keep it from tearing on any protruding branch.

The orange-hooded young man turned slowly on the spot. He scratched at his ear.

"It's just a short cut," Kenny yawned, stretching his arms up over his head. Kyle stumbled to a halt in front of him.

"I want to find the road again."

"Uh…road…yeah…."

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please don't say you've gotten us lost."

"Okay, I won't say it then."

"Fuck you, Kenny," Kyle growled. He turned on his heel and began marching back the way they'd come.

"Hey, hey, wait, Kyle, don't go." Kenny sprinted after the redhead and caught him by the arm. He still looked a little out of it, but the cold night air seemed to have sobered Kenny up.

"I don't want to walk around in the woods, Kenny. So either get us to the other neighborhood now or I'm going back," Kyle warned, tugging himself free. Kyle rounded on Stan. "Right, Stan? We're leaving if he doesn't get us out of here."

Stan blinked. He didn't like being forced to choose among his friends, mostly because it wasn't fair to Kenny, Cartman or anyone else. Stan would always choose Kyle's side no matter what.

Kenny threw up his hands. "Don't worry! We're close. I can feel it."

And with that said, Kenny turned about and sprinted off into the dense foliage. Kyle and Stan exchanged exasperated looks and took off after their lanky friend.

They weren't running more than a couple of feet before the woods thinned out and the boys burst out into the moonlit ground of an old graveyard. Lighted frat houses could be seen in the distance and the school bell tower loomed high over the tops of the trees. An empty road grew out of the foggy night and wrapped its way around the perimeter of the cemetery. Instinctively Stan and Kyle drew closer.

"Where the hell did he go?" Kyle whispered. He pulled his cloak around him once more though this time he seemed to be using it as a way to ward off unwanted spirits rather than keep his body warm. Stan squinted, trying to see through the gloom. A tall shadow wavered some twenty feet away. As Stan watched the shadow scrambled upon a stone and lay down, its face towards the heavens.

Stan pointed. "He's over there."

As they approached, Stan realized that the rock Kenny had laid down upon was not a rock but a long slab of marble; a gravestone with its owners name worn away. Kenny sprawled upon the cold stone with his head resting in his arms. He blinked sleepily up at the stars, his face set in a frown.

Kyle reached him first. Smacking the blond boy on the knee, Kyle hissed, "What the hell? This isn't a neighborhood."

Kenny didn't appear to have heard Kyle. In fact for a moment, Stan wondered if Kenny had even noticed them at all. He looked so entranced with the night sky above.

"Dude, I can see my breath, I don't want to stand in a fucking graveyard all night. Are we going Trick-or-Treating?" Kyle asked shaking Kenny's foot.

"Do you think if I waited long enough," Kenny began, "The Great Pumpkin would come?"

"Dude, you're stoned," Stan laughed nervously, trying to playfully tap Kenny on the shoulder.

"I could probably wait forever. Alex and the others like to hang out here. That's where I first met them," Kenny continued not really speaking to his friends, but more to himself.

Kyle touched Kenny's hand. "Dude, are you okay?"

"I'm failing everything. I got an e-mail today saying I'd lost my scholarship. I'm going to be kicked out," Kenny said in a soft voice. He didn't seem particularly disturbed by the news; instead he acted tired as if he'd known it all along, and he was finally lifting the weight from his shoulders by revealing the little fact to his friends.

Kyle squeezed Kenny's fingers. "Kenny, are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Dude…," Stan murmured.

"There's something you can do, right? There's got to be a way for you to get it back. Ask the school for more time to bring up your grades. I'll do whatever it takes to help you, dude," Kyle offered.

Kenny shot up, causing the other boys to jump.

"No, I've been thinking," he said, still not looking at his friends. "I think I'm not cut out for this school stuff. Not that learning new things isn't fun, I just hate the structure of it all. I'm sick of having to be places on time and having to worry about whether or not I can impress my professors enough with bull shit papers. I'd prefer to go home and find something else to do with my life."

Kyle looked scandalized. "You just can't drop out of college! What will you do with your life? You need an education!"

Kenny smiled down at Kyle. For a moment something like pity fluttered across the young man's thin face, but it lasted only a moment and then passed before he set a lopsided smile into place.

"I don't need it as much as you think, Kyle," Kenny said, now leaning down from his perch on the headstone to touch Kyle behind the ear.

"So," Stan said, trying to change the conversation, "your – uh – friends like to hang out here? Why?"

"I met them here," Kenny explained, swinging his legs over the side of the stone. He kicked out playfully, swinging his legs back and forth.

"I'm not surprised," Kyle deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

"I like them," Kenny confessed.

"Dude, I think they might be the reason you're failing school," Kyle confided. "They're a distraction."

Kenny frowned. "They're not a distraction. They're odd, but I like them. I like hanging out with them."

"As opposed to us?" Stan asked in a small voice. Kenny shook his head.

"No, of course not, Stan," the blond boy reassured his friend, hopping down from the gravestone.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck. "Kyle might be right, Kenny. Those guys can't really be helpful when it comes to studying."

Kenny waved his hand back and forth. "You're still thinking that I want to stay at this stupid place."

Kyle stepped forward and shoved Kenny as hard as he could back into the gravestone.

"FUCK YOU!" Kyle roared. "Fuck you, Kenny, how many times have I helped you? How many goddamn times have I pulled your ass back from a failing grade in high school? You told me you wanted to do something with your life! You made me tutor you; you worked hard and saved up every penny! And now…," Kyle faltered, dropping his hands. "Now you're going to throw that all away? Why?"

Kenny sighed. "I'm not cut out for this place. For school. I was kidding myself when I thought I could be the first person in my family to graduate from college."

"It's not as hard as you think," Stan offered, holding his hands out in a pleading manner.

Kyle rubbed at his nose in frustration.

"You can't give up."

"I'm not like you. I can't do this."

Stan stuffed his hands into his pocket. "Well, if you're scared, that's understandable. I guess if you want to quit, you should quit."

Kenny closed his eyes and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

"I'm not scared," Kenny corrected. "I just don't want to be here anymore."

Stan shrugged. "Whatever. There are days when I don't want to be here too. But I'm not going to quit school 'cause I got a bad grade."

"It's just not one bad grade," Kenny said evenly, his eyes still shut. He rubbed his temples. "I'm failing three classes and my grade's too low for the scholarship."

"So?" Stan asked, "I'm sure you can find a way around that."

"Are you listening to yourself, Stanley Marsh?" Kenny snapped, his eyes opening. "I can't afford to go here anymore. I can't afford to try to pick myself back up and fix these fucking grades. You might have all the money in the world, but I don't!"

"It's not like you to give up, Kenny," Kyle whispered from behind the blond. Kenny rounded on him.

"I'm not giving up."

"Prove it," Stan challenged. Kenny let out a low breath.

"There's not much to prove. I could get you my Midterm grades, would that be proof enough?"

"Just tells me you've been having a tough semester. Doesn't mean you can't make it through four years of school," Stan noted.

Kenny threw himself back on the gravestone. He crossed his legs and grabbed his head.

"Stop it. Both of you. You think I can be like you, but I can't."

"We're not asking you to be like us," Kyle said.

"We're asking you if you're really sure you want to give up," Stan finished.

Kenny stuffed his hands into his hooded sweatshirt's pocket. He glanced off to the side, his mouth set in a thin line and his eyes narrowed in thought.

"B-because we think you can do it, if you really tried," Kyle added, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"You can be whoever you want to be, Kenny," Stan commented.

Kenny hunched his shoulders, staring at the ground. He didn't speak for a few minutes, but after awhile he cleared his throat and rubbed at his eyes. He finally said,

"I guess I am scared. It just seems like I can't do anything right."

"I'm scared too," Kyle confessed. Kenny scoffed. "No, it's true," Kyle continued. "My mom's always calling me, asking what grades I'm getting, whether or not I'm meeting the right people. She keeps bugging me to tell her what my major's going to be, but hell if I know. Yet, everyone wants me to decide on what my life is going to be right now. I can't take that; it's too much at times. I-I sometimes want to run away from it all."

"You're a fucking genius, Broflovski. You can do anything. Me on the other hand…,"

"I'm not a genius," Kyle laughed sadly. "I wish I was, and then it'd make all this school stuff a whole lot easier."

"What if I don't think I'm cut out for school in general? What if I can never make anything of myself? What if I can't be who I want to be?" Kenny asked all his bravado slipping away. He sounded ten-years old again. Stan felt it too. It was a lot what their parents and society asked of them; figure out their whole lives in the time span of only four short years.

"Nothing's going to stop you from being what you want to be," Stan found himself whispering to his friend. "Only you can stop yourself. No one or thing can."

Kenny nodded. Once again he slid down from the gravestone, this time pushing away from it completely.

"You guys make me feel a lot better," Kenny confessed, his lopsided grin reappearing. Stan and Kyle smiled too.

"That's good," Stan said.

"Plus," Kenny chuckled, "I was getting tired of acting like a living corpse anyway. I was just going through the motions. I'll have to actually pay attention now."

"So you're not going to give up on college?" Kyle asked his voice rising with hope.

"Never said that, but it's on my list of things to try a second time. So I will give it another go for now. I'll just start paying attention this time."

* * *

><p>Stan and Kyle waited in the graveyard as Kenny asked if he could take a quick walk alone. Claiming he needed to clear his head of all pot and alcohol, the blond disappeared into the misty night, leaving Stan and Kyle leaning against the large tombstone Kenny had been lounging on.<p>

"He just needs to buckle down and stop hanging out with those losers," Kyle said. He rubbed his arms trying to warm them. Despite the puffy sleeves of his costume, he shivered and his teeth chattered. Stan shuffled closer to his friend and discreetly wrapped an arm around Kyle's shoulders.

"I just don't get why he'd hang out with them at all. Was it all just for the pot?"

Stan raised and lowered one shoulder, pressing himself closer to Kyle's body. They huddled together, sharing their body heat.

"He said he met them hear at the graveyard," Stan noted. "Maybe Kenny likes Goth or macabre stuff and just never told us?"

"I don't know why he'd be so fascinated by death. You'd think he'd get sick of it after the hundredth time he died." Kyle breathed on his hands trying to warm them. Stan took them between his own hands and rubbed them together. Kyle didn't protest, allowing Stan to hold his fingers in his palms.

"I don't know, maybe it seems a lot more familiar here than in the campus," Stan mused, placing his left arm back around his friend's shoulders and pulling him close to his chest.

"He better hurry up with his walk. I'm losing the feeling in my toes," Kyle complained. "Plus you fail as a blanket, dude."

Stan chuckled. He slipped off his letterman jacket and placed it around Kyle's shoulders.

"How's that?" Stan smirked. "Any better?"

Kyle slipped his arms through the long sleeves and pulled the jacket close over his chest. "Yeah, but now you're the dumbass without a coat."

"I don't mind."

"Really?"

"Yeah, dude, I'm not the one wearing tights."

"I thought I told you to stop checking out my legs."

"But I like looking at them," Stan wheedled.

Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"What I can't give you a compliment?"

"You've been giving me a lot of weird compliments tonight," Kyle pointed out.

"I can do that, you know. It's a Super Best Friend thing."

"Is it now?"

Kyle smirked and nudged his elbow into Stan's side. Stepping away from the gravestone, Kyle paced before Stan looking around the cemetery. It was a small graveyard with both crumbling, decayed headstones and fresh, newly carved ones. Stan watched Kyle wander towards a mound of fresh dirt and peer into an open grave. He then moved down an alley of tombstones, examining the epithets written upon them. Stan pushed himself off of the headstone he'd been leaning on and wandered behind Kyle.

They moved in silence around the cemetery; Kyle in front and Stan several feet behind his friend. Stan brushed his hand over the cold stone as he walked, tracing his fingers around the intricate designs etched upon the smooth surfaces.

"So many names are worn away," Kyle murmured. He stopped and Stan caught up to him. Kyle pointed to one grave in front of them. "Look, that one you can't even tell how many lines were originally written on it."

Stan nodded.

"It's kind of scary," Kyle whispered, "being forgotten. In a hundred years no one will remember who we were, Stan."

Stan never thought about it before, but now that Kyle had mentioned it, Stan guessed years after they died no one would remember them. And one day their names would be erased from memory. For a brief moment, Stan felt dizzy trying to imagine not existing. It was a horrifying feeling, pretending to make his mind go blank; to never feel or think or eat or run or hug Kyle ever again made Stan feel suddenly very small and yet stretched and exposed all at once. It was a strange feeling to have that same connection with every person in the world. Death would unite everyone in the end, but never would one feel more alone.

Kyle rubbed his forehead. "My head hurts still." Stan jerked out of his reveries and placed an arm around Kyle's shoulders. It was becoming an all too familiar knee-jerk reaction to anything Kyle said or did. Stan examined Kyle's face. His friend was looking pale and the bruise on his temple looked an ugly shade.

"You want to go home?"

"No," Kyle pouted, still massaging his forehead. He dug a bottle of pills out of his cloak's pocket. Stan frowned.

"Didn't you just take a bunch of those not more than half an hour ago?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "It's like Tylenol, dude. I'm not going to overdose on it."

"Still…maybe we should go home, Kyle. If you have to keep taking pain meds you might consider going to bed and seeing the doctor in the morning."

Ignoring Stan completely, Kyle tossed back two pills and swallowed. He made a face, coughing once. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

Kyle smacked him on the shoulder. "I'm going to be fine."

Pulling away from Stan's arm, Kyle headed back towards the gravestone Kenny had rested on. As if to prove to Stan he was completely fine, Kyle clambered up on top of the nearest headstone. He stood up straight, holding out his arms for balance. He took a step back and then leapt off one headstone and landed on one closest to it. He teetered for a moment, but gained his balance. Stan stood beneath him.

"Dude, get down."

"You're not my mother."

"Kyle."

The redhead ignored his friend, taking another bold leap from one stone to the next. The second jump was a bit farther than the one before, and Kyle waved his arms wildly trying control his momentum. Stan rushed to his side, ready to catch him.

"Please, get down."

"You act like I'm going to fall off a cliff. These aren't more than three feet off the ground," Kyle scoffed, taking another jump this time landing more soundly and regaining his balance with ease. Stan followed below him, every now and then holding out his hands when Kyle wobbled.

"You're making me nervous. You've proved your point, dude. We won't go home yet," Stan folded. Kyle grinned down at him.

"Good." Instead of hopping down, like Stan hoped, Kyle took another bound from one headstone to the next.

"Will you get down for me?" Stan whispered. Kyle paused, smirking.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to get hurt, duh."

"I'm not going to get hurt."

"Famous last words, Kyle."

"Whatever."

Kyle jumped down; he tripped a few feet forward. Stan raised a hand as if to help steady his friend, but Kyle spun on his heel and faced Stan.

"I'm fine, Stanley. Why do you always worry about me so much?"

Stan felt his stomach heave upward. He placed a hand over his mouth and closed his eyes. Kyle hadn't noticed, already halfway towards the first grave they'd rested upon. Stan took in a deep breath; he thought of Cartman and his missed opportunity, he thought of Kenny and his lackluster attempt to be more than he could achieve, and he thought of Wendy and Bebe huddled together with their hands entwined so closely they looked like they shared one hand.

"Because…because I love you, dude."

His friend stopped dead in his tracks. Kyle's shoulders had gone rigid. It seemed to take ages for Kyle to turn back around to face Stan. About seven graves separated them, and Stan wasn't sure if it was fear or relief that washed over Kyle's face.

"What did you just say to me?" Kyle whispered in a halting voice.

Stan held out his hands. "I love you. I've always loved you. T-that's why I don't want you to get hurt. C-cause it would hurt me too."

Kyle was shaking his head back and forth.

"Stan…I – I don't – I mean I can't…. What?"

Stan took a step forward, prepared to sprint and close the gap between him and his friend. Kyle's voice sounded unsteady and scared; he sounded as if he might cry. Kyle never cried unless it was important. Stan hated himself for being the one to distress his friend in such a way, but at that moment Stan couldn't help but feel good. A great weight had disappeared from his chest the moment he'd uttered those words aloud.

"Kyle, please listen I –"

A dozen lights erupted around them. Temporarily blinded, Stan threw up his hands and covered his face. He rushed forward, one arm slung over his eyes, and the other instinctively reaching out for Kyle.

But his fingers never got the chance to grab a hold of his friend's hand.

Stan hadn't made more than six paces forward before he was pressed in upon all sides and tackled to the ground. The earth rose up to meet him far too quickly, and Stan's face hit the dirt with a sickening thud. His head swam and stars flashed before his eyes. He didn't know up from down. He couldn't see past the swarm of dark masses pressing in all around him. He knew nothing of what was happening to him.

All he knew was that Kyle had screamed his name.

* * *

><p>To be continued...<p>

Thank you for reading. Feel free to review.


	6. Six Feet Under

I'm back with a new chapter! Sorry this took awhile. The last episode sort of left me reeling. Anyway, I decided to incorporate it a little bit into the story. It actually works out pretty well for the most part. Anyway, enjoy the chapter.

**Summary:** College can be a time for academic achievement for many, unsupervised partying for others, and a chance to discover who you really are to the world. Or to your best friend. Stan Marsh's first Halloween as a college Freshman leads him on a long night's journey of understanding into the inner workings of a Super Best Friendship.

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Style

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park. This is simply for fun and writing practice.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six – Six Feet Under<strong>

When Stan and Kyle were barely ten and Stan's drinking problem had become habit, Kyle came over to spend the night with Stan. It had been a few months after Stan's parents had resolved their differences and moved back in together. After the family had settled down, Mrs. Marsh suggested to Stan that he invite Kyle over to celebrate. At the time Stan wanted to do no such thing, but his mother insisted, believing Stan spent a little too much time moping about in his room. Stan was grateful for the solitude his bedroom brought him, and especially thankful for the loose floorboard under his bed.

He had discovered all too quickly that the bottom of his dresser drawer was not a sufficient enough hiding spot for his whiskey bottles. Every Thursday, his mother did the laundry, folded the family's clothes, and then proceeded to return them to their respective owner. Stan had been fortunate enough the first time around when his mother put away his laundry; he had just finished the last drop of the whiskey and had tossed the bottle away down by the dump. However, when he returned home his mother asked him why he had a cork labeled Jameson in the bottom of his drawers. Stan had panicked and said something about his father and his mother rolled her eyes. She took Stan's lie without question and went off to reprimand her husband about leaving alcohol paraphernalia where the children could get a hold of it.

After the encounter with his mother, Stan had searched his room for a better hiding place. It was essential he have one for his bottles. He needed it fast and now; the homeless man who lived next to the theater left his post between five and seven, and Stan had to find him and have him purchase more whiskey before Stan came down from his drunken high. It was as he crawled around under his bed that he discovered the loose board. He pried it up with such panic that he dug a splinter in his palm and smacked himself in the nose. Blinking the tears from his eyes, he surveyed the hole and concluded it was decent. He scrambled out from under his bed and rushed out of the house, flying through the streets of South Park towards the Bijou Theater.

Kyle arrived at his house on Friday at six o'clock. His mother dropped him off, embarrassingly kissing his cheek before saying a quick goodbye to Mrs. Marsh. Stan stood at the bottom of the stairs, peering sleepily through the railings. After taking several swigs of his whiskey, Stan felt confident he could get through one night with his best friend talking about shitty movies and music. Stan was all ready to plaster a firm grin on his face and nod along to Kyle's gibberish.

Mrs. Marsh made them supper; whatever it was Stan could not taste it or stomach it well. His head swam, but he'd gotten use to the dizziness. He knew just how to sit, how to move his arms and hands, and how to pull himself back into reality long enough to respond to Kyle's questions. His parents knew nothing. Kyle appeared to not notice any difference either; for this Stan was happy.

After the meal, the boys retired to Stan's room. Stan found them something to play that didn't require a lot of thinking. Pulling down a tub of Legos the boys set about building towers and constructing houses. Kyle cut out a lake-shape from blue construction paper and placed it in between one of Stan's houses and one of his own. Then Kyle set about building a tiny bridge for the pretend body of water.

"So I found this awesome book! I've been reading it nonstop," Kyle informed his friend, as he picked out several more gray colored blocks. "You should totally read it, dude. I think you'll like it."

Stan wasn't so sure. Kyle's tastes in most entertainment seemed like shit to Stan now. It was one thing to drink and then go watch a movie or listen to music with his friend, but trying to stay drunk and pay attention to a book probably would prove impossible for Stan. He hoped Kyle wouldn't insist on him reading it. Kyle liked quizzing people on the books he'd read.

"What's it called?" Stan asked, deciding that was a safe enough question to ask. He'd been trying for the last five minutes to fit two pieces of Lego together only to realize one was too small. He quickly dropped that piece and searched for one the right size, hoping Kyle hadn't noticed. Fortunately, the redhead had had his gaze focused on his little bridge.

"Here, I'll show you," Kyle said, crawling towards his backpack by the door. He unzipped the front and yanked out a pink colored paperback. Stan wrinkled his nose at the cover; there were too many flowers on it. Its title read The Fairytale Exit.

Kyle rubbed the back of his neck as he explained, "It's sort of a girl's book, but I like the main character."

If Stan hadn't been drunk he might have pointed out to Kyle that a book or anything else couldn't be specifically meant for boys or girls. This was something Wendy had been discussing during one of their recent picnics. Apparently she had seen a new documentary and wanted to explain it in great detail for Stan's benefit. Stan had run out of whiskey that day and remembered quite a bit of what she'd ranted about. It didn't sound like shit to him, which was a nice change.

"What's it about?" Stan yawned. He had grown bored with the Legos and stood up to stretch. Kyle remained on the floor fanning through several pages. Stan decided to move around their make-shift houses and sit next to Kyle. He tugged a pillow off his bed and lay down to the left of the redhead.

Kyle frowned down at him. "Are you okay?"

"Headache," Stan mumbled, closing his eyes and curling up on his side, facing his friend.

"Dude, that sucks," Kyle said sympathetically. He patted Stan's shoulder.

"I'm okay. Just tell me about the book and let me lie down here," Stan suggested. Kyle gave him one last skeptical look, but turned back to his pink book.

"It's about this girl who wants to be a prince."

Stan opened one eye and murmured into his pillow, "Girl's can't be princes."

"This one wants to be."

"That's silly."

Kyle shrugged. "I think it's pretty cool. She gets into awesome swordfights with the other kids in her school. They're all fighting over this Flower Princess. The one to win the swordfight wins the Princess. She does whatever the winner wants."

"That sounds gay, dude," Stan noted. Kyle frowned again and flicked Stan in the head.

"It is not gay! The Flower Princess has magical powers that can change the world!"

Stan didn't respond; he was starting to drift off. Kyle punched him in the shoulder and Stan bolted up onto his hands and knees.

"What!"

"What the hell's your problem?" Kyle accused. Stan felt a wave of fear ripple in his gut. He glanced towards his bed, double checking that his bottles were safely under their floorboard. He didn't need to have Kyle mad at him again.

"Nothing. I'm sorry," Stan said, trying to stare Kyle straight in the eye. It proved rather difficult when Stan couldn't even focus on his friend's entire body.

"I-I just don't feel very good," Stan confessed, and he really didn't. The whiskey wasn't sitting well.

Kyle set down his book and touched Stan's forehead.

"You do feel warm. Want me to go get your mom?" Kyle commented. Kyle's hand was cold, and Stan found himself leaning heavily forward into his friend's palm.

"No. Just – just read the book to me. I promise I'll listen." Stan lay back down and scooted closer to Kyle's side. His friend picked up the book and flipped to the first page.

Kyle began the story. Stan had had all intentions of drifting off to sleep as his friend read his book. He expected the tale to be shitty, but was surprised when he found himself intrigued by the first paragraph.

"So her parents are dead and a prince just appears out of nowhere to make her feel better?" Stan found himself asking. He blinked several times, staring at Kyle's socks. Their toes were green.

"Yep."

"And she wants to be a prince because she met a prince?"

"Looks like it," Kyle said, happy that Stan appeared to have paid attention to the story. Kyle turned another page and continued. It was around ten o'clock that Stan's mother came into the room to tell the boys to get to bed. Stan had sat up and moaned in disappointment.

"But, Mom, I have to know if Ursula beats Simon in the swordfight!" Stan's drowsiness had slowly slipped away as his friend had read to him. Kyle beamed clearly proud that Stan liked his story.

"You can finish it tomorrow, Stanley," Mrs. Marsh offered. She entered the room and dropped an extra pillow and blanket next to Stan's bed. She turned around and gestured to the Legos on the floor. "Now, just make sure you clean this up and brush your teeth."

"Okay," both boys answered in unison. Mrs. Marsh gave them a smile and exited the room.

After they'd cleaned up the room and prepared for bed. Stan tugged on Kyle's pajama sleeve.

"Sleep in my bed with me. I want you to finish reading the story."

Kyle agreed. Hiding under the covers, Kyle flicked on a small blue flashlight and held it close to the page. He kept the beam of light right next to the book so that it wouldn't shine out from under the blanket; a precaution just in case Mrs. Marsh came in to check on them.

Finding his place and removing the bookmark, Kyle started reading again. Stan pressed closer to his friend's side listening to the harrowing tale of the female prince. She beat Simon by knocking his corsage from his lapel while she protected her own flower, a formal rule set up to win the Flower Princess. The story continued with more epic battles, rescues, and underhanded schemes. As Stan's beside table clock clicked midnight, Kyle snapped the book closed. They had reached half-way, both boys lay in silence letting the last scene ring in their minds. Ursula had lost the Flower Princess. A young man named Tommy had tricked the girl into believing he was the old prince she so wanted to meet. Confused, she had hesitated in their duel, and he had knocked away her corsage first.

That wasn't what had disturbed the boys, however.

"Does the Flower Princess even like Ursula?" Stan asked Kyle. It seemed very important suddenly to Stan that he know. "I thought they were friends. Was it all an act?"

Kyle rubbed at his eyes; they itched horribly. He had called the story to a halt because he could no longer concentrate on the words.

"I don't know, dude," Kyle confessed. "I hadn't gotten this far."

Stan frowned.

"We have to definitely finish it tomorrow. Ursula needs to get the Flower Princess back!"

"Yeah," Kyle agreed, crawling out from under the hot covers and setting his book on Stan's bedside table. Stan emerged from the blankets too and lay down on his pillow. Kyle joined him.

"I really like this story, dude," Stan found himself confessing. He was smiling too. "Thanks for showing it to me."

"No problem. I told you it was awesome, but does anyone ever listen to me? No."

Stan chuckled. Kyle grinned wider.

"Dude!"

"What?"

"You just like laughed for the first time in ages."

"I've laughed before this," Stan defended, but he couldn't help but think Kyle was right.

"I like that Ursula wants to be a hero, a prince, you know," Kyle murmured closing his eyes. "If a girl can be that awesome fighting off bad guys, we can be too!"

"Totally, dude."

Kyle's hand slipped into Stan's briefly giving it a small squeeze. Stan smiled very happy that Kyle didn't look or sound shitty to him at that moment. Stan had lost track of how long it had been since his last drink. Some things still seemed stupid and annoying to him, but Kyle had come back into focus.

That was all he needed really.

The next day Stan cleared out the floorboard under his bed before Kyle woke. When his friend did finally stir, Stan leapt on top of him shaking him awake.

"Dude! Story! Now!"

* * *

><p>"You didn't have to hit him that hard."<p>

"Shut the fuck up."

"What the hell are we going to do? He's totally out."

Stan lay with his face in the dirt. He kept his eyes closed, trying to keep his mind from spinning along with the rest of the world. Heavy footsteps thundered around his head.

"Wake him up," hissed another voice.

"You wake him."

A great noise of rustling fabric and muffled grunts issued somewhere to Stan's left. A swift thud connected to something solid and a heavy gasp rent the air.

"Keep him still, dammit!"

Stan opened one eye. The world spun. He saw several pairs of boots and sneakers clustered together next to a gravestone several feet from his head. Moving his gaze up, Stan saw about a dozen young men, roughly his own age and dressed in monster masks and hooded sweatshirts, while some wore complete costumes, huddled together in a whispered conversation. An odd large bundle of blue and black fabric fell limp from two of the biggest young men's arms. For a moment Stan mused over what they were holding, when the bundle moaned and shook its head back. A mop of curly red hair appeared as a cloak slid from his friend's skinny shoulders and folded upon the ground.

Both of Stan's eyes were open now. He tasted vomit on his tongue, his face was crusted with blood under his nose, and his head beat out a pain like a hammer on a drum. Pushing himself up onto his hands, Stan tried to get his bearings. A swift kick in the gut sent him falling flat on his face once more.

"He's up!" called a voice. It sounded familiar, and Stan twisted on the ground to get a better look. He saw a figure dressed all in black with a white Ghost Face mask. Stan gritted his teeth and scrambled up to his feet. The young man in the Scream costume swung his thick flashlight at Stan's head. Ducking the black-haired boy tried to run only to be surrounded on all sides. Now trapped Stan gazed into the face of a rubber wolf-mask with bloodied fangs.

"'Sup, Stanny!" cackled the wolf. Stan heaved for breath, his stomach still sore.

"Terry?"

The wolf-mask was removed and Stan saw the narrow, pinched face of his fellow teammate. The other boys kept their masks on, shifting uncomfortably in their circle.

"What the fuck is going on?" Stan managed to croak. His eyes landed on Kyle who dangled from the others' arms, blinking slowly at the ground his breath coming out in gasps. Stan took a step towards Kyle only to be grabbed from behind and held still. A figure with a warped goblin face approached Terry. He pointed at Stan.

"You didn't tell me your 'prospie' was a fag," hissed Goblin-face. He tossed Stan's letterman jacket to the ground. "The runt here was wearing his jacket. And you heard what he said."

Terry didn't answer his masked friend, instead he turned to Stan. Terry's face was a blank slate as he asked,

"Well, are you a fag?"

Stan glanced at Kyle's inert form and then back to Terry. The other boys had grown silent. Stan could here cars hum down the street several yards away.

Straightening up, Stan glared Terry down.

"And what if I am?"

"Then he can't be in Delta," answered a boy in hockey mask. A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd

"So it's true?" pressed Terry, his face cold and unyielding. He looked more annoyed and put-out than disturbed by Stan's possible homosexuality.

"Oh, cause that's such a horrible shame," Stan snapped at Terry. Stan's eyes focused only on Kyle. "Whatever will I do if I can't be in your goddamn fraternity?"

The young men holding him knocked a flashlight into the back of his head. Stan bit his tongue and tasted blood.

"Shit."

"Terry, if he's gay I don't want him in Delta. Let's just get the fuck out of here before someone notices us," spoke up the goblin. They were pretty far back in the cemetery. Closer to the woods than the road, but every time a car drove past, the group stiffened. A murmur of agreement greeted the goblin's proposal.

"He'll snitch that we beat up his little boyfriend here," Terry explained to the crowd. He indicated Kyle and Stan noticed for the first time that a new bruise had surfaced on his friend's forehead. Blood trickled from a cut on Kyle's left cheek. Stan's hands started shaking. He had never considered himself a violent young man, but he suddenly had the strongest, unearthly urge to grate Terry's smug face upon a headstone.

"What the fuck did you do to him?" Stan struggled against his captors, but they held fast.

"The little bitch wouldn't shut up," Terry explained coolly, wiping away some dirt from his sleeve. "So _we_ shut him up."

Stan wanted to vomit, but kept his head. He could feel the growing anxiety in the crowd. Many of them shifted away from the circle as if debating about splitting for the road and leaving Terry to face Stan's wrath on his own.

Stan closed his eyes, breathing heavily out of his nose. "You're lucky they've got a good hold on me, dude," Stan whispered, "because the minute they let me go, I'm putting you in one of these graves."

A visible shiver rippled through half of the young men. Bo even pushed up his Scream mask and turned a worried face towards his friend.

"Dude, you made Marsh mad. He, like, never gets mad," Bo hissed, his eyes darting between Stan and Kyle's prone form. "Dude, maybe we should get the fuck out of here."

Terry rounded on Bo, boxing him around the ears. "There are twelve of us, dumbass. What's he going to do?"

"I suppose if you stick around long enough," Stan said in a strangely level voice, "you'll find out."

Terry spun back around to Stan. He laughed, despite his face having slipped into slight fear for a moment. His eyes darted around the circle, before he pointed at Stan. He then jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"Throw him in."

Stan found himself half dragged, half carried forward. He kicked out, catching one masked boy in the nose. However, another lackey took his wounded friend's place, catching hold of Stan's foot more securely.

It took Stan a second to realize where they were taking him. The open grave Kyle had peered into earlier fell into Stan's line of sight. Stan put two and two together and began panicking. He didn't want to be thrown in; the idea of being in such a small, closed in space kicked his adrenaline into overdrive.

"WAIT!" he shouted, struggling with all the strength he could muster.

The other boys stopped. Terry moved closer.

"What? You change your mind about Delta?"

Stan spat in Terry's face. "Fuck no. I just wanted to make a suggestion."

Terry staggered backwards, wiping at his cheek. The circle chuckled. Stan smirked. It was a good thing he was rather popular member of the team.

"What's your suggestion?" asked Bo. Terry shot him a glare.

"Let me kick the crap out of Terry. If I win, you guys leave us alone, but if he wins you can throw me in the grave." Stan didn't know why he was suggesting a fight. He'd never fought before, had never had the desire or need. However, he hoped that if they let him go, he'd have a chance to grab Kyle and make a break for it.

It seemed Terry was thinking along similar lines as he said, "You'll just bolt. I'm not stupid."

Bo raised his hand. "I'd actually like to see that."

"What?"

"Yeah me too."

"Yeah."

"I got fifty bucks that says Marsh goes down in twenty."

"No way, dude, Terry will be out in ten minutes. I bet you a hundred bucks."

Suddenly the whole circle was making bets. Stan found the grip on his arms loosening, and he made a step forward.

Terry held up his arms.

"Fine! I'll show you assholes Marsh has nothing on me." The crowd let out a murmur of excitement. A few of the masked young men began to detach themselves from Stan, but Terry waved his hand for attention once again.

"To make sure he doesn't fucking run, throw the runt into the grave."

Stan felt his stomach drop.

"What the fuck? No! Don't throw Kyle in there!"

Terry raised an eyebrow. "Why not? If you really mean to fight, you won't mind us putting your little friend out of harm's way?"

The boys holding Kyle hesitated. From the way they eyed Stan, he could tell they debated whether or not following Terry's order would result in Stan's anger being directed towards them too.

"Put him in there!" Terry repeated. The young men jumped and moved towards the grave. Stan watched, his heart in his throat, as one of them dropped down in the grave first and helped lower Kyle in. For this Stan was grateful; a brief moment of panic had convinced Stan that they'd planned on tossing Kyle's limp form into the grave without care or thought.

When Kyle was safely hidden in the open grave, the masked young men returned to the surface and took their place in the semicircle around Stan and Terry. At the moment Stan' attention was completely on the grave. It was too dark to see inside it. As for Terry, he had removed his jacket and mask completely. He still wore a black sleeveless shirt with his red and white ninja headband wrapped around his forehead.

"So how we doing this, Marsh?" asked Terry, hopping in place with his hands raised defensively. He moved his head back and forth cracking his neck. Stan pulled his gaze away from the grave.

"I'm not good with fist fighting," Stan confessed, "but how about we set some rules."

Terry waved his hand back and forth. "No way."

"Aw, come on, Ter," whined Bo from the crowd. "I want to see what he's got in mind."

Once again Bo's words were encouraged by the rest of the group. Terry fumed.

"Fine!"

Stan walked over towards a clean, new grave where someone had kindly laid a bouquet of flowers. He stooped down and picked two dried-out carnations. He held them up for everyone to see.

"Look, I want to get the fuck out of here as soon as possible, okay? I don't want this fight to become some kind of fucked- up endurance test. I don't have the patience, and I want to get Kyle home," Stan explained. "So this is what I suggest: we each pin one of these flowers to the fronts of our shirts. The first one to knock their opponent's flower away wins. Agreed?"

"That sounds super gay, Marsh," laughed Terry, "but what the hell!"

Stan handed the flowers to Bo and said, "To make sure things are fair, you pin the flowers to our chests. That way no tricks."

Bo snickered nervously, not liking how close Stan's fist, which held the flowers, was to his face.

"Why trust me? What if I tie yours real loose?" Bo asked.

"You won't do that," Stan said, smiling. "You want to see a good show like the rest of us."

Bo gave Stan a toothy grin, taking the flowers from him and turning to another masked young man. His costume consisted of a mummy's wrappings, so he had a few safety pins to spare. After acquiring what he needed, Bo proceeded to pin one carnation on each of the teammate's shirts. Stan's was blue and Terry's yellow.

When they were ready, Stan and Terry faced each other across the way. The circle reformed, and they were closed in on all sides. Bo counted to three and then dropped his arm as a signal.

The fight began.

With a loud chorus of cheers and cat-calls from the crowd, Stan pelted forward his fist pulled back for a punch. Terry, however, was faster. With a swift chop with his hand, the young man sent Stan reeling. Suddenly Terry's foot connected with Stan's stomach, and the black-haired boy was on his knees gasping for air.

"Forgot to mention, Marsh," smiled Terry, pointing to his make-shift ninja outfit, "this isn't just for show. I have a black belt."

_Fuck_, Stan thought, scrambling to his feet and skipping away from Terry's next swing. He ducked behind a gravestone, but Terry leapt over it, hitting Stan in the back of the neck.

"This was really stupid of you," Terry chuckled, kicking out at Stan's ankles. Stan stumbled again and fell hard upon his face. He felt blood trickle from his lip.

Crawling on all fours, Stan caught hold of a long, pointed tree branch. It was slightly longer than his arm and wispy enough to handle, but thick enough not to snap too easily. He jumped to his feet and swung it at Terry's head. The other boy tripped backwards flinging his hands to his face.

"Hey! What the fuck! You never said we could use weapons," Terry hissed.

"I never said we couldn't," Stan pointed out, holding the stick out before him like a fencing sword. "So, come on then, find your own stick and fight back."

"This is ridiculous!" Terry said. "I can knock that out of your hand easy!"

"Then try it!"

Terry did just that. He bounded forward with immense speed and swiped at Stan's pretend weapon, fortunately for Stan he lost his footing and crashed to the ground in that instant, and Terry ended up grasping at air. With his arms wildly flung out, Stan had a perfect view of the flower on Terry's chest. Plunging forward and up, Stan threw out his arm and swung the stick like a sword.

It was at that moment that Kyle screamed.

Stan lost his footing yet again and fell to his hands and knees. Silence engulfed the circle and the two fighting. From the grave everyone could here panicked clawing and scraping. Heavy panting and grunts issued from the grave as its occupant tried in vain to climb up the sides.

"STAN!" Kyle shrieked. "FUCK! HELP! GET ME OUT! OH GOD, GET ME OUT! SOMEONE PLEASE!"

Stan couldn't move. For some reason his body had frozen at the sound of his friend's voice. Sobbing started up next from the grave; hysterical gasps for air followed after. Stan pushed himself to his feet, his eyes suddenly blurring.

"Dude, it's okay. I'm coming! Shit, Kyle, I'm sorry!"

Stan didn't have time to move, someone grabbed the back of his collar and jerked him back. He fell hard to the ground. Terry stared coolly down at him.

"We aren't done, Marsh. You're not going to start playing around with me and not finish it."

"Fuck you," Stan spat. "We have to get him out of there!"

Stan could now here soft thuds against the earth as Kyle attempted to jump high enough to catch hold of the edge of the grave. But he was too short. Stan bit his lip, his mind racing.

How could he have been so stupid? Kyle feared being trapped. Too often as kids, Kyle had found himself held against his will whether at Cartman's whim or by some other shady group. To have no control over his location or body set Kyle into panic mode. It brought back the nightmares from a time when he had been kidnapped and surgically altered all for the outrageous reason of not properly reading an agreement he'd signed. Although many of their friends joked now at Kyle's strict attention to reading every tiny detail on anything put in front of his nose, Stan knew better. Kyle _never_ wanted to put himself in such a situation again.

Terry kicked Stan in the shin.

"Get up."

Stan pushed himself off of the ground. The thudding noises had stopped from the grave. Now all Stan could hear was Kyle's distorted breathing. Each racking breath accompanied by a muffled sob.

Terry punched Stan in the shoulder. Stan reeled back and landed hard against a gravestone. His palm cut against the edge of the stone. He had dropped his stick; Terry bent down to pick it up, pointing at Stan's chest.

"Well, come on! Fight!"

Stan glared at the other boy. Then without any hesitation he brought his hand up his chest and snatched off his flower. He flung it at Terry's feet.

"I'm fucking done playing. I've been acting like a goddamn asshole long enough. Get the fuck out of my way now!"

Stan stood up and marched towards Terry; he was the only thing between Stan and Kyle's grave. Terry tossed the stick away and held out his arms to his friends. He smiled.

"I won!"

No one cheered.

Stan shoved him out his way and sprinted to the grave. He peered into the dark hole, seeing nothing.

"Kyle?"

Stan swung his legs over the side and hopped into the hole. With his hands outstretched, Stan felt for his friend. His fingertips brushed velvet, and he wrapped his arms around Kyle's trembling form. Kyle stiffened and swung out with his fists. Stan caught hold of him and pressed his friend to his chest.

"Dude, it's okay. It's me. I'm getting you out of here." Stan whispered into Kyle's ear, tugging his friend into a standing position. Kyle, however, refused to cooperate. He curled in upon himself, buckling his knees, and fighting Stan the whole way. He shook so violently that Stan couldn't keep his grip.

"Kyle, Jesus calm down. Please!" Stan found his own voice cracking. He pulled his friend into his arms and rocked him. "Dude, it's me. Just breathe, okay? It's all okay. You're not in any danger. I swear it!"

Stan craned his neck and peered up at the edge of the grave.

"One of you assholes like to help me?"

No one answered. Stan's heart fell.

"Guys?" Stan called again. "Anyone!"

Stan removed his hold from Kyle and took a running start to the edge of the grave. He jumped and caught hold of the rim, pulling himself up. He was taller than Kyle and getting his body out of the grave wouldn't have proven that difficult of a task had Stan been in a better condition, but after one too many knocks to the head and his nose, lip, and hand bleeding, the climb out of the grave proved tiresome and consuming. When he managed to prop his elbows on solid ground, Stan looked up and saw the graveyard was completely empty.

"Shit."

Stan dropped back into the hole. Kyle had begun to whimper, and Stan threw his arms around him.

"Dude, I'll get you out. You just got to hold on real tight to me, okay? I can get us out."

Although he wasn't sure how much Kyle was willing himself to understand, he did allow Stan to wrap his arms around him. As Stan held Kyle close, he realized he couldn't climb out this way. If Kyle would climb onto his back maybe he could pull them both out. Stan mentally noted how difficult pulling his own weight out of the grave had been, how could he do it with Kyle's weight holding him down too?

Stan set Kyle back down.

"Dude, I need you to help me, okay? I need you to pay attention alright? Open your eyes, Kyle."

But Kyle refused. The minute Stan had let him go, Kyle had curled back into a ball, shivering. Stan slumped against the side of the earthy wall, staring weakly up at the sky.

They were both trapped. Stan couldn't leave Kyle, but he couldn't get out of the grave with him in his panicked state. Exhaustion swept over Stan, the multiple blows to the head finally catching up with him. He had no more strength. They'd have to wait until morning, and pray someone found them.

Stan lay down beside Kyle, curling his body around his friend. Stan shivered just now realizing he left his letterman jacket up above. Kyle's cloak was out there too.

"I'm sorry," Stan whispered. Kyle appeared not to hear, his body trembling and his fingers rigidly entwined in his hair. Stan rubbed his friend's shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, dude."

For a brief moment, Stan closed his eyes letting exhaustion take him. He let the night sounds, and Kyle's ragged breathing fill his head.

From above, Stan heard shuffling, and then a soft 'thump' of boots on loose ground. Snapping his eyes open, Stan peered up into the rectangle-framed night sky.

As he wondered which sparkling dot in the heavens above might be Saturn, a cascade of dirt tumbled into the grave, hitting him in the face.

* * *

><p>To be continued...<p>

See you next chapter. Thanks for reading. Comments and constructive criticism most welcomed! :D


	7. Third Time's A Charm

Woot! I finally got Chapter Seven done. I really hope everyone enjoys it. I kept rewriting it and worrying over it. It was a difficult one.

I wanted to get this done yesterday, but I was distracted by Wednesday night's awesome South Park episode. I still can't believe they_ literally_ threw Eric under a bus. Brilliant.

**Summary:** College can be a time for academic achievement for many, unsupervised partying for others, and a chance to discover who you really are to the world. Or to your best friend. Stan Marsh's first Halloween as a college Freshman leads him on a long night's journey of understanding into the inner workings of a Super Best Friendship.

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Style

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park. This is simply for fun and writing practice.

Please enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven – Third Time's a Charm<strong>

Stan scrambled up, spitting dirt and rubbing at his eyes. He gave his head a good shake. Another small avalanche of dirt skidded into the grave. Without thinking Stan threw himself on top of Kyle. Although Kyle had made no move or sound to indicate he'd noticed the first wave of dirt fall into the hole, Stan didn't want to risk the chance of his friend's panic attack reigniting.

"God, I know you two are a couple of fags, but is picking out your shared grave a bit much?" drawled a familiar voice, "Seriously, you guys, are fucked up."

Stan could have cried with joy. Never, in his whole life, had he been happier to hear Eric Cartman's voice than right now. Bolting to his feet, Stan craned his neck up, glancing up at the large pile of dirt sitting next to the grave. Cartman stood atop the loose earth, staring disgustingly down at them. Stan didn't know what else to do, but hold his hands up in a pleading gesture.

"Dude," Stan croaked. He hadn't realized how hoarse his throat had become. "Dude, Cartman, oh thank God. Jesus, man, I'm so fucking happy to see you!"

Cartman smirked, apparently pleased with Stan's desperate praises.

"What the fuck's wrong with your face, Stan? You get into a knife fight?"

Stan slumped against the side of the grave. "Sort of like that, yeah."

"What's wrong with your Jew?"

Stan moved his gaze towards Kyle who still lay curled in a ball on the floor. Stan knelt beside him, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. Kyle's trembling ricocheted up Stan's arm and into his chest. His face set in a passive mask, Stan looked back up at Cartman.

"Please help me get him out. He's in a bad way, dude. He's like in some sort of shock. It's fucking bad, Cartman."

Eric frowned down at his friends. He rubbed his hands together as if truly contemplating the benefits of helping out the two people he liked least in the world.

"Can't you get him out yourself?" Cartman asked, hunkering down and balancing on his toes as he peered into the grave.

"Dude, I'm fucking beat. Literally. And I can't get Kyle to move. Please," Stan's voice cracked, "just be a decent person for once and help me."

Cartman stood up straight, tugging at his coat sleeves. He checked his watch.

"Gee, Stan, I'd love to help, but not sure I'm appreciated by someone who's implying I'm _not _a decent person on a regular basis."

Stan felt his anger ripple into life. His patience was all dried up. He did not want to spend all night stroking Eric Cartman's ego just so the Fatass would grow a heart.

"Kyle and I have two pillowcases full of candy that will belong to you if you help us out of here," Stan offered in one breath.

Cartman didn't even blink. "Deal."

Scooting to the edge of the grave, Cartman slid his large bulk down. Stan pulled Kyle out of his way, feeling suddenly very claustrophobic down in the hole with Cartman's size filling up a good third of the space.

"What do you want me to do?" Cartman whined, as if he'd wasted so much effort dropping down into the hole.

"Just give me a boost out and then grab a hold of Kyle and hoist him out. I'll grab him from above."

"So I have to touch him?"

"Goddammit, Cartman!"

"Ay, I'm just askin' keep your fucking pants on, fag."

He said no more, but knelt on one knee. He brought his hands together and laced his fingers. He held up his palms, and Stan placed his foot on the make-shift step. Cartman counted to three, Stan grabbed the side of the grave, Cartman pushed him up, and Stan crawled his way to the surface. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky, the exhaustion once again sweeping through him.

"Ay, asshole, don't leave me down here with the Jew," Cartman barked. Stan got to his hands and knees and shuffled to the edge.

"Okay, now," Stan said each word very carefully, "Cartman, pick Kyle up real easy, okay? Don't go too fast, alright? Just go slow, and don't scare him."

Cartman crossed his arms. "I'm not touching the Jew until you show me the candy."

Stan wanted to cry again, and preferably belt Cartman in the face. But at the moment he needed Cartman happy.

"Dude, I swear we have the candy, it's like over there or somewhere," Stan said pathetically. He waved his hands to the cemetery at large.

"I ain't fucking laying a hand on Kahl until you show me some candy. I mean what if I don't like the kinds you two got? Then what am I suppose to do?"

Stan's fists were shaking. He gritted his teeth, his eyes glancing at Kyle's inert, curled-up form. The redhead hadn't moved in minutes. His fingers were still digging into his curly hair.

"Alright, I'll get your fucking candy! Just – just make sure he doesn't start hyperventilating or anything." Stan pushed himself to his feet and stalked off towards the far edge of the cemetery where he'd left his pillowcase. He prayed none of Terry's gang had swiped it already. He had nothing else to bribe Cartman with.

Along the way to the first gravestone, Stan picked up his letterman jacket and Kyle's star decorated cloak. The glow-in-the-dark effect had worn off hours ago, and the velvety material appeared dull. Stan tried to brush off the dirt and grime it had collected during the night, but he only seemed to smudge the grit deeper into the fabric. He sighed and slung the cloak over his shoulder.

Luckily for Stan the pillowcases were still where he and Kyle had left them. He bent down to pick them up; he turned and jogged back to the grave. Cartman leaned in the corner farthest from Kyle. For a minute Stan wanted to berate Cartman for not at least trying to show some sympathy towards a distressed friend, but instead just held up the pillowcases for Cartman to see.

"Here. Happy?"

Cartman narrowed his eyes.

"What kinds are there?"

Stan gritted his teeth, trying to suppress a growl. He yanked open one of the bags and pulled out a handful of sweets.

"Snickers, Reeses', a couple of Milky Ways…."

Eric beamed. "Sweet. What else?"

"An apple…"

"Who fucking gives out fruit on Halloween? Is it at least a candy apple with caramel and nuts?"

"No, just a plain apple."

Eric stuck out his tongue. "You can keep that. I don't want no hippie food."

Stan rolled his eyes and set down the bags.

"Alright, are you satisfied now?"

Cartman waved his hands back and forth.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll help you get your precious Jew."

Stan sighed with relief, dropping to his knees and crawling to the side once again. Eric bent down and took hold of Kyle's arm and tried to tug it up around his shoulders. Kyle's eyes were pressed closed and his fingers still locked on his hair.

"Fuck, he's got a grip," Cartman panted, trying to pull Kyle's hand away without ripping out his hair.

"Don't freak him out," Stan whispered in a high voice.

"I ain't going to fucking freak him out."

"Well, just be careful!"

"When am I not careful?"

"When it comes to Kyle…never."

"You want him out of this hole?"

"You want your candy?"

"Touche."

Cartman stood a couple inches taller than Stan and carried about twice the bulk. Although he'd stopped playing football back in high school, Stan recalled Eric's nickname from when they were on the same team. The guys had called him Freight Train because no one got in Cartman's way when he barreled down the field. Cartman was fairly strong. He could accomplish a lot physically after four years of actually disciplining his body. Yet, just like everything else Eric did, he only exerted his strength when it was beneficial for him. Otherwise he'd act weaker than a sick dog if asked to lift, carry, or fetch anything you asked.

So lifting Kyle's skinny body off the ground was no sweat really for Cartman. That didn't, however, stop him from complaining the entire time.

"God, he's like a fucking stick. Does he even eat?"

Stan held out his arms to wrap under Kyle's arms.

Cartman continued, "This stupid costume is so gay. The fabric's all itchy. Goddamn, he's wearing fucking tights. How could I have forgotten that?"

"Cartman, shut up."

Together Stan and Cartman hauled Kyle's limp body out of the grave. Stan pulled with what little strength he could muster. He sat down hard, yanking Kyle up the rest of the way, while Cartman lifted him from below. Collapsing into an exhausted heap, Stan crouched with Kyle huddled against him.

Eric climbed out of the hole, rolling onto his back and huffing for air like a beached whale.

"That totally wasn't worth two bags of candy, Stan." Cartman frowned at his friend who was completely oblivious to him now that Kyle was safely tucked in his arms. The redhead had finally dropped his hands and sat in Stan's lap blearily gazing with unseeing eyes out into the graveyard.

"Kyle?" Stan shook his friend's shoulder. "It's okay now, dude, you're safe. Everything's going to be okay now. Alright?"

Kyle didn't respond with words, instead he rested his head against Stan's chest and continued to stare unblinkingly forward. Stan felt his own panic well up in his chest.

Was Kyle going to be okay?

A few inches away, Cartman sat counting and sorting his newly acquired candy. He smiled to himself as he noted he had five king sized candy bars already, and he hadn't even gone through the second bag.

"Cartman," Stan found himself whispering. "I need your help again."

Eric looked up from his candy. "What?"

"Will you – I mean – see I don't think I have – I don't think I can carry him for a long ways. And our dorm room's halfway across campus…." Stan trailed off, biting his lip as Eric eyed him coldly.

"You got any more candy?"

"No." Stan felt defeat pressing him down once again. He hated that he had to ask Cartman for help. He wanted to be able to say to Kyle, 'I got you out of the grave. I saved you from those bullies.' Like a true friend – like someone who loved you more than himself. But with Cartman's annoyed face glaring back at him in the dark, Stan's illusions and daydreams were slowly dissolving.

Cartman got to his feet, and Stan stared up at him pathetically. Eric snorted.

"Weak. Fucking weak." Eric jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Well, come on, my car's parked over there. I'll take you two fags home."

"Home."

Stan started, looking down at Kyle.

"Dude?"

"I – I w-wanna go home, Stan."

Stan wanted to cry again. His eyes were already wet, threatening to overflow. Kyle stared at his feet, his shoulders slumped and his face still blank. He blinked once. Stan hugged him to his chest.

"Don't worry. I'll take you home."

Cartman didn't protest much after that. He carried Kyle piggyback to his red flashy sports car, a present from his mother for high school graduation. Although freshman were prohibited from having cars on campus, Eric (like always) had somehow gotten his way.

When they reached the car, Stan found Kenny asleep in the front passenger seat.

"What's he doing in your car?"

Cartman motioned for Stan to help Kyle down as he explained.

"I found his stoned ass out in a pumpkin patch. I had just returned the Safe Ride van for the night and was picking up my car from the parking lot. It was hard to miss his orange sweatshirt."

Stan helped Kyle buckle on his seat belt and then wrapped his friend in his velvet cloak. Kyle tugged it up to his chin and continued to look pale.

"What the hell was he doing out there?" Stan said finding it hard to keep the note of anger out of his voice. Would things have happened a little different if Kenny had stuck around? He was the superhero after all. And was he really off getting stoned again? After the talk he and Kyle had had with him.

Cartman strolled around to the opposite side of the car and slid into the driver's side. Stan got in to and wrapped an arm around Kyle's shoulders.

Cartman started the car. Adjusting his rearview mirror he said, "The crazy ass said he was waiting for the Great Pumpkin."

Ten minutes later found Stan with his forehead pressed against the cool glass of the backseat window, staring at the lights zipping past. Cartman drove ten miles over the speed limit despite the residential area. Every other driver he barked and ranted at; if someone drove the speed limit Cartman cursed them, if a group of students darted across the street in front of his car Cartman threatened to run them down. Stan tried to ignore Eric's irrational behavior by keeping a close watch on Kyle. The redhead appeared to be coming around. His eyes didn't seem as glassy, and some color had returned to his cheeks.

Cartman slammed on the brakes, jerking everyone forward. Two girls dressed as Catwoman and Super Girl shuffled in front of the red sports car, giggling and ignoring the vehicle completely. Fuming, Eric revved the engine and honked his horn.

"Dude, stop that," Stan reprimanded.

"Fucking move, bitches!" Cartman growled to no one in particular.

"Cartman, seriously stop that."

"It's no use, Stan, that's how he drives."

Kenny was stretching in the front seat. He arched his back and then turned to grin at his friend. However, when his gaze landed on Kyle his smile vanished.

"What's wrong with him?"

Stan explained. From the front seat, Stan could see even Cartman raise an eyebrow at Stan's teammate's behavior. Kenny sat back against the passenger side window.

"Holy shit, dude," Kenny whispered, "I'm so fucking sorry I wandered off. If I'd know – I mean – Jesus, man."

Stan shook his head.

"I just want to get Kyle home."

"Want me to beat the shit out of them again?" Cartman offered. Stan blinked, surprised.

"Wait? What?"

Cartman shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Your face looks like a piece of raw meat, Stan. There's blood even in your hair. What the fuck, man, seriously?"

Stan ran a finger through his hair. His fingers tugged through knots and something caked-in which he guessed must be the blood. How he'd managed to get blood from his lips and nose to his hair he didn't know. He guessed it had rubbed off from his cut hand. He glanced down at his palm, noting the ugly congealed crust of blood that had surfaced there.

"And what the fuck did they do to Kahl's fingers."

"Fingers?" Stan whispered. He hadn't looked at Kyle's hands. Kenny was curious too and flicked on the overhead light. Cartman swore and complained about the sudden glare, but didn't move to shut off the light. Now with the interior illuminated, Stan could see Kyle properly. The color that had returned to Kyle's face wasn't so much a flush, but a greenish tinge. Kyle kept his focus on Kenny's back seat, with his eyes screwed up in concentration. A large welt had appeared above his left eye, and the cut on his cheek had dripped blood down along his face and neck to collect at his costume's collar.

Stan's breath caught in his throat. In the dark he hadn't realized how bad a shape his friend was truly in; without thinking Stan hugged Kyle to his chest. The other boy didn't protest.

"Holy shit, Cartman was right. Stan, look at his fingers." Kenny pointed.

Stan was afraid to look, but forced himself to anyway. Taking a hold of Kyle's wrists, Stan brought both of his friend's hands into the light.

In that same instant, Stan wanted to drop his friend's wrists and recoil with disgust.

Kyle's fingernails were bleeding and raw. The skin on each tip looked as if they'd been scraped clean, with the nails caked with an ugly mixture of dirt and blood.

Kenny flicked off the light and spun around in his seat to face the dashboard.

"Seriously, you guys, what the fuck?" Cartman murmured to himself, his voice cowed and solemn for once.

Stan didn't know what to do, but wrap the end of Kyle's cloak around the boy's hands.

"They didn't do that to him," Stan explained. "It was trying to claw his way out of that grave. He fucked up his hands trying to escape."

Cartman veered off the main road and turned south. A few minutes later, the gang found the car parked out in front of a small pharmacy. Cartman ordered Kenny to run in and get bandages for 'the Jew's stupid hands.' The lanky blond bolted from the passenger side with a small wad of cash Stan had handed him.

Kyle stared at the bright lights spilling out from the automatic glass doors. Stan touched his friends arm.

"Dude, are you okay?"

Kyle turned back around.

"I'm really fucking tired," Kyle finally said after a long pause. Stan was pleased to see Kyle was communicating again.

"Don't worry. After Kenny's gets the bandages, we'll go home."

"Bandages…."

Kyle glanced down at his fingers. His eyes grew wide.

"Oh shit. Oh fuck, Stan…."

"Shh, dude, it's okay. We'll get you all cleaned up, okay? It's alright."

Kyle was breathing too fast again.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

Cartman straightened up in the front seat. "You better not fucking puke in my car, Jew!"

Kyle instinctively brought one of his hands to his mouth as he dry heaved, but seeing his fingernails, flung away his hand. He bent over and coughed into his knees. Meanwhile, Cartman was yelling at Stan to get Kyle out of the car before he hurled on the upholstery. However, before Stan could even grab a hold of Kyle and lead him out of the car, Kyle had slid across the back seat and shoved the right door open tumbling out onto the sidewalk. Stan scrambled up after him.

"Kyle!"

Bent on all fours, Kyle emptied the contents of his stomach into the gutter. He shivered wiping spit from the side of his mouth. Stan knelt beside him, rubbing his back and shoulders.

"It's okay," Stan repeated like some kind of chant.

Kyle dry heaved for a few more minutes, tears leaking at the corners of his eyes. Stan could tell the night had finally taken its toll on his friend. If it hadn't been for Cartman's scoffing figure in the front seat, munching on king-sized candy bars, Kyle might have broke down crying then and there in Stan's arms. But giving his body another shake, Kyle sat up and glared at a spot some feet into the distance. He sniffed hard and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes.

Kenny returned with a large plastic bag filled with supplies. All three climbed back into Cartman's red sports car, Kenny set about cleaning and bandaging Kyle's fingers. He'd bought a couple of bottles of water, a rag, gauze, and disinfectant cream. He splashed water from the bottle into the rag and cleaned away the extra grime and filth surrounding Kyle's nails. Next he applied the disinfectant, which stung apparently because Kyle called Kenny a string of names and curses that Stan knew would turn Mrs. Broflovski's hair white.

As Kenny started wrapping the gauze around each one of Kyle's fingers, Stan had to comment.

"You're really good at this," Stan pointed out.

"It's not my first time tying a bandage, dude," Kenny said dryly. "I've done it on myself a million times before."

Kyle actually chuckled.

"You should be a doctor, Kenny," Kyle said. "I bet you'd save so many lives."

Kenny gave Kyle a look as if debating whether or not the redhead was joking. When the bandages had been securely fastened, Kenny offered an extra water bottle to Kyle who drank it greedily. After downing half of it, Kyle wiped his mouth dry and handed it to Stan.

"Dude, I can't remember how long it's been since I had something to drink."

Stan took the bottle, gulping down several mouthfuls. He hadn't realized how sore and parched his throat had become. Wendy and Bebe's party seemed ages ago. Stan was starting to miss their apple cider.

Cartman drove them back to their dorm next. Paying no heed to the fact that he was now driving on the wide sidewalk, Eric pulled up right out in front of the freshman dorm. He put the car in park, and turned to glare at his friends.

"Alright, all the fags out; I'm sick of you guys. You're lucky I was feeling generous tonight."

Kenny jumped out of the car first, holding the bag of make-shift first aid. Kyle scooted out after him. Stan followed, but paused and smiled at Cartman.

"Thank you."

Eric frowned.

"Whatever, fuckin' hippie and his fuckin' ginger Jew," Cartman mumbled into the steering wheel. He turned again to Stan and pointed a fat finger at him. "You're just lucky I love M&Ms okay? Like you guys have like more than ten bags in those pillowcases, okay? If it wasn't for that I'd have left your asses in the grave."

Stan nodded. "Thank you, Cartman," Stan repeated, still smiling. Cartman called him a fag one more time, before revving up the gas and speeding off down the sidewalk. He took out half a shrub as he turned a corner and found the street again. Stan shook his head. He sighed, noting that Cartman was heading in the direction of Bebe's sorority house.

Kenny had managed to dig out his student ID and swiped it over the reader. Kyle shuffled into the warm lobby. Without a word, he marched towards the stairs. Stan jogged to catch up with him. Kenny trailed at their heels.

"Dude, are you sure you're okay to walk?"

"I'm okay…." Kyle mumbled, his arms wrapping around his chest as he entered the drafty stairwell. He paused at the first step and glanced up at the four flights of stairs hovering above his head. Stan gazed skywards too. Funny, yesterday he'd taken these stairs nearly two at a time, but tonight Stan wondered how he'd find the energy to climb ten steps.

Kenny cleared his throat. "If you need help, dude," he offered to Kyle, "I can carry you."

Kyle rolled his eyes, taking the first step.

"I'm fine. I don't need to be carried."

However, after climbing to the second floor, Kyle asked his friends to pause as he sat down on the landing to catch his breath.

"Why doesn't this dorm have a goddamn elevator?" Kyle moaned, pressing his forehead to the tops of his knees. Stan wanted to drop down next to him and pull him into yet another hug, but in the light of their dorm, Stan's fantasies were once more burying themselves into the recesses of his willpower. Maybe he'd had the courage to confess to Kyle in a dank and lonely graveyard, but back in the real world, that thought vanished from Stan's mind completely.

"Oh, quit bitching and let me carry you," Kenny said, handing his plastic bag to Stan. Kyle tried to protest, but Kenny was too quick. Carrying him bridal-style, the blond began leading the way up the next flight of stairs.

Stan frowned to himself. He wished he could have offered to carry Kyle. Once again, San found himself more an accessory to the situation than the hero.

Kyle wrapped his arms around Kenny's neck and glared at him.

"Don't you dare drop me," Kyle warned. Kenny smirked.

"I won't, Princess."

"Fuck you, Kenny."

Stan couldn't help but smile at the exchange. At least Kyle was getting back to his old snarky self. If he found the will to criticize something, Stan knew Kyle would be just fine.

By the time they reached the fourth floor, Kyle had started to complain about his ruined costume. His cloak was damp, muddy, and blood-splattered, his tunic sleeves ripped at the elbows, and his tights sported over a dozen different sized runs and tears.

"I worked so hard," Kyle sighed, poking his finger into one of the holes in his tights right above his left knee. Kenny snorted with laughter.

"_You_ worked hard? I'm pretty sure I saw Bebe sitting at that sewing machine more often than you," Kenny noted.

"That stupid machine hated me. It was possessed, I swear," explained Kyle, throwing out one arm in emphasis. His bandaged fingers brushed against Stan's chest.

Kyle started. "Sorry, dude."

Stan smiled sheepishly. "It's okay. Don't go hurting your hand now."

Kyle opened his mouth as if to retort with something sarcastic, but stopped, slowly closing his mouth.

"You're right, dude," Kyle finally said. "I should be more careful. I mean after what happened tonight. I should just take it easy, right?"

Stan lifted up his head, glad that Kyle had listened to him.

"Yeah, cause it's just best not to overexert yourself."

Kenny reached their dorm room first. He set Kyle on his feet and straightened up.

"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I could sleep for a hundred years," Kenny said, his eyes drooping and a slurred smile creeping onto his face. Stan wondered just how sober Kenny really was; maybe he was just a good actor. Stan could never tell in the end.

Kenny didn't allow them to think on his actions long. He waved his hand and said, "Maybe when I wake up, I'll have an awesome long beard."

With that mental image now in his friends' heads, Kenny slapped Stan on the shoulder and hugged Kyle goodbye. He then strolled off down the hall towards the stairwell whistling all the way. He bumped against the wall a couple of times before vanishing down the stairs.

Kyle turned to Stan.

"He still smelled like pot and booze."

"Were you afraid he was going to drop you?" Stan asked, suddenly a bit annoyed at Kenny's lack of responsibility, yet at the same time marveling at how competent his friend could be under the influence.

"Nah, dude, I'd trust Kenny with my life whether he was sober or not."

Stan thought about it. "Yeah, me too."

The first thing Kyle did, when they entered their dorm room, was throw his whole body down upon his bed and bury his face into his pillows.

"I like Kenny's idea," he mumbled into the fabric.

Stan collapsed in his armchair.

"What's that?"

"I could sleep for a hundred years."

"Then let's do it."

Kyle pushed himself onto his elbows. "I need to take a shower."

Stan had closed his eyes and rested his head against the chair's cushions.

"Then do that."

Kyle rolled onto his side and stared at the opposite wall. He pulled his knees closer to his chest. Silence filled up the room as both boys remained slumped and exhausted where they'd landed. The only sound that could be heard was the low hum of Kyle's alarm clock as it buzzed away the seconds.

"Did all of that just happen tonight, Stan?"

Stan opened his eyes and stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars.

"Yeah, it did, dude."

"Holy shit," Kyle breathed.

"Yeah."

"I was so hoping that I was dreaming. That it was just a nightmare – the grave."

Stan looked over at Kyle and saw him shiver.

"You're okay now?"

"I think so…maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I'm debating about sleeping with the lights on tonight."

"I wouldn't mind."

"You wouldn't?"

Stan got up out of his chair, and climbed up onto Kyle's bed. He lay behind him. Without a word between them, Stan wrapped his arm around Kyle and pulled him into his chest. Stan closed his eyes and pressed his face into Kyle's hair.

"I'm sorry," Stan mumbled into Kyle's red curls. "I'm so sorry for what happened."

Kyle forced a laugh. "Why are you sorry?"

"I should have done something – something better. I just let them put you in that grave. I didn't even think, man. I just – I was just so pissed off at Terry…," Stan sniffed. "I just wanted to beat the shit out of him."

"I wanted to too. Especially when he snuck up behind you and knocked you out," Kyle confessed. He gave another half-hearted laugh. "I was actually halfway across the graveyard screaming my lungs out and ready to smash in his face, when like two of those guys caught me."

Stan stared at the back of Kyle's head.

"You did that?"

"Duh."

"There were like twelve of them."

"Yeah, and…?"

"Most of them were like twice your size," Stan murmured.

"Do you have a point, Stanley?" Kyle deadpanned, turning over to look at Stan.

"Sorry – just it's hard to picture…."

Kyle sat up. "Do you think you're the only one allowed to be a hero?"

Stan was on his knees.

"No, of course not. I just – I don't know…."

Kyle was sitting on his knees too. He played with the tip of the bandage on his right index finger.

"I'm sorry," Kyle finally said. He unraveled the bandage slightly, staring at the raw flesh it revealed beneath. "I don't know why I snapped at you. I always do that."

Stan shrugged. "It's cool, dude."

Kyle glanced up, his eyes wet. He glared at Stan.

"Is it really?"

Stan rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah…Kyle, I'd do anything for you."

"Because you love me?"

Stan felt his heart stop. He sucked in his breath, freezing in place. Kyle's gaze bore a hole through his chest.

Kyle sighed. "Why do you do that to yourself? Why would you love me?" Kyle swung his legs off of the bed and stood up. He swayed for a moment with the rush, but steadied himself. He walked to the closet door and yanked it open. He began searching for his shower caddy and towel.

Stan blinked, not sure that was the response he had expected. Sure, he'd gone over the scenario in his mind dozens of times, but never had he imagined Kyle saying that. He guessed Kyle's reaction would be only one of two. Either he'd hate Stan and be repulsed by the very idea of his best friend liking him in any romantic fashion or he'd throw himself into Stan's arms confessing his own inner thoughts and feelings about their growing relationship. Stan had, of course, hoped for the latter, but had prepared himself for the former. He didn't, however, prepare for an annoyed Kyle, shuffling through his closet and trying to pick up wash cloths and a bar of soap on the tips of his injured fingers.

"Kyle, I don't know what to say," Stan finally whispered, getting to his feet to. "Do you hate me?"

Pausing as he tried to pry open a small box of travel-sized soap with his bandaged hands, Kyle straightened up.

"I could never hate you, Stan."

"Then what's wrong? Did I freak you out? Cause I didn't want to do that! Honest! I was so stupid for just blurting it out like that," Stan rushed out, taking a step forward. He placed his hands on Kyle's shoulders. "Dude, I wanted to tell you for so long…I just – I'm sorry."

Kyle shook his head. "Stop saying you're sorry, Stan."

"Then what do you want me to say!" Stan threw up his hands.

"Just be honest…," Kyle began, leaning heavily against the closet door, "you really meant that? What you said to me earlier in the cemetery? You really love me? It's not just bullshit – like that one time."

Stan blinked. He wracked his brains for 'that one time' but could only come up with an agonizing flashback where he'd yelled drunkenly down the sidewalk at Kyle's retreating form.

"You remember that, huh?" Stan said, flinching. Kyle nodded.

"It was the second time you'd ever told me you loved me. But I didn't think it counted, just like the first time," Kyle confessed sadly. Stan stared.

"And the first time would be….?"

"After we saw the fourth movie installment of a franchise we both now pretend does not exist about the certain ophidiophobic archaeologist we grew up admiring," Kyle said in one whole breath. He shivered at the mere mention of the film.

It took Stan a moment to sort out through all of Kyle's fancy words. He tended to pull out the big vocabulary when he was annoyed. But after Stan realized Kyle was talking about the time in the police station where the boys had cried into each other's arms, he was suddenly rather touched and a bit confused Kyle remembered that particular 'I love you.'

"So the first time I told you I loved you – I was sort of hysterical…?"

"Well, we both were," Kyle said, rolling his eyes. "The second time you said it you then proceeded to call me a piece of shit."

Stan bit his lip. He felt the bottom of his stomach drop.

"And I've told you I'm sorry about that, right?" Stan pressed, taking a step closer to his friend. He clasped his hands together in a pleading manner.

"Only…," Kyle went to hold up his hands to count on his fingers, but seeing his bandages, thought better on it and folded his arms across his chest. He cleared his throat. "Only four hundred and fifty six times."

Stan blinked.

"You counted?"

"I was curious if you'd reach five hundred," Kyle said offhandedly, blushing and turning back to his closet. He tore open the box of soap and dropped it into his shower caddy.

"Fuck," he hissed.

Stan was at his side. "What?"

"One of my finger's started bleeding again."

"Dude, be careful," Stan said automatically, touching Kyle's arm. He braced himself for Kyle to snap at him and say something along the lines of 'you're not my mother,' but the jab never came.

Kyle rewrapped the bandage over his fingers.

"Yeah…," Kyle murmured, "cause if I get hurt, you get hurt too. Right?"

Stan's eyes suddenly stung. "Yeah. That's right."

"So this third 'I love you, Kyle' actually was real?" Kyle asked, touching Stan's wrist with the tips of his fingers. Stan could feel the rough gauze trace across his skin.

"It's probably the realest thing I've ever said, dude," Stan confessed. He reached out a hand to drape across Kyle's shoulders, but the other backed away into his closet. He pressed himself up against the hanging sweater vests.

"Stan, if we're going to be telling each other really real stuff and all, I think I should start by telling you something…."

Stan wasn't sure he liked where this was heading. Kyle's eyes had darted about the room, avoiding the spot where Stan stood.

"Dude, what's wrong?"

"Stan, you'd say you were gay right?"

"I'm pretty sure, dude. I mean girls are nice and all, but I haven't really given them much thought since early high school."

"Yeah…."

An icy grip clenched at Stan's stomach. He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. A sudden thought occurred to him. Earlier he had wondered what exactly Kyle's sexuality was, and now by the evasive way he stood, Stan feared Kyle might just confess that he was straight. Had he Stan made the assumption that Kyle must be gay too? Was it this silly notion that as best friends they were to be identical in every way? That they were to like everything the other liked. Stan had a sudden flashback to the fourth grade. He was ten years old again, hating his friend's music, choice in movies, food, everything. Eventually Stan had come to the realization that he and Kyle could like different things and that it wasn't the end of the world. Yet still, at ten years old and even as a semi-adult now, Stan desired for that time when he and Kyle could go back to being one in the same. He wanted his shadow back.

Kyle fidgeted with his wrappings again. Stan frowned. He reached out and took Kyle's hands.

"Dude, don't do that. Just tell me okay? I promise I won't be mad or anything."

"I'm not gay, Stan."

The words hit Stan like a ton of bricks. He had prepared himself for this; at least he'd thought he'd prepared. He had told himself over and over again, that when the day finally arrived to confess his feelings he would not be upset when Kyle turned him down. The chance of Kyle returning his feelings in the same way was very slim, Stan had noted. He knew Kyle would still love him like a friend, a brother even, which Stan repeated over and over in his head was all he needed to be for Kyle.

But now finally faced with the reality, to hear those words formed by Kyle's mouth, a mouth Stan had fantasized about kissing; Stan wanted to run, to hide and pretend he never uttered that third 'I love you.' Then he could go back to pretending he had a chance.

In that limbo he still had hope.

Stan dropped Kyle's hands.

"Oh Jesus, Stan, don't look at me like that," Kyle moaned, reaching out to catch hold of Stan's arm. Stan had taken a step backwards without thought.

Shaking his head, Stan tried to jerk away. He set a fake grin onto his face. "It's cool, dude, honest."

"No, it's not. You're upset."

"I'm not!"

Stan shook himself free and stepped across the small room to the bunk beds. He grabbed a hold of the ladder and clambered his way to the top.

Kyle rushed to the edge of the bed.

"Goddammit, Stan! You didn't let me finish!"

"It's okay, dude," Stan mumbled, turning on his side. "Forget I ever said anything. I'm sorry if I freaked you out or anything."

"Jesus Christ, Stan, you can be so thick!" Kyle shouted. He began pulling himself up the ladder too, wincing as he clenched the wooden rungs between his sore fingers.

"You know, Stan," Kyle panted as he struggled to the top, "that's one thing that always pisses me off about you."

Stan stared at the wall. He was holding in the tears.

"What?" he shot.

"When anything seems too unpleasant, too honest, when you think you can't get your way or someone's hurt your feelings you just run and hide! Like right now! You're moping like baby! And you haven't even let me finish telling you everything!"

Kyle crawled up the bed and punched Stan in the shoulder before flopping down beside him. He poked his finger into Stan's chest, but cringed as a shot of pain ricocheted through his pointer. Kyle cursed under his breath, but still managed to look thoroughly pissed off. Stan sniffled.

"It's okay if you're not gay, dude," Stan said in a monotone. "Just promise we can still be friends."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "You are being a baby, Stan."

"I mean it though. I don't want to fuck anything up."

"You aren't going to fuck anything up!" Kyle cried, emphasizing the point by shaking his hands. Stan had forgotten how animated Kyle could get when arguing. Apparently Kyle had forgotten too, because once again he visibly flinched and then tucked his hands close to his chest. Stan wanted to hug him.

Stan waited for Kyle to calm down. Finally, the red head sighed.

"Stan, I said I wasn't gay, but I never said I was straight either."

"Wait…," Stan began slowly. "What do you mean by that?"

He sat up, staring down at his friend.

"I don't know," Kyle sighed.

"What?"

"I don't know," Kyle repeated.

"You don't know what?"

"I don't know what I am. Okay?" Kyle moved to sit up and leaned against the wall. His bushy hair brushed the ceiling. Stan had to duck his head to sit up properly.

"What do you mean; you don't know what you are?" Stan asked, wrinkling his brow.

"I mean I don't know if I'm gay or straight or whatever," Kyle confessed, his voice sounding shrill. "I really don't know."

"Are you bi?" Stan asked. He couldn't hide the note of hope in his voice.

"I don't think that's the right word for it."

"Do you like girls?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"What about, dudes?"

"I like them too."

"Then you're bi."

Kyle shook his head. "I don't think it's that simple, Stan. See I don't mind looking at guys and girls. Like I think a lot of people are aesthetically pleasing, but that's all they seem to me. It's like – it's like I'm in a museum, you know. I really enjoy looking at all the wonderful art. The statues, the canvases, the weird bullshit modern art that makes no sense. I like to look. But I wouldn't touch any of it. I just have no desire to – cause I really just enjoy looking. Does that make sense?"

Stan stared at his hands folded in his lap.

"I'm not sure I understand what you're telling me," he confessed. Kyle sighed looking thoroughly beat. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist.

"See, Stan, that's why I was afraid to tell you. Cause I can't really explain it to myself, so how could I explain it to someone else?"

"I wouldn't have laughed or anything, dude," Stan reassured. "I wouldn't have said you were making it up, if that's what you thought."

Kyle shook his head. "It's not that. See this is where it gets complicated. Cause like I said before, I don't mind looking, but touching's a whole other thing…but say I saw something I really, really liked? I'd be tempted to touch it right? Just to know how it feels…but just a touch. I don't want to actually do anything more."

Stan ran his hand through his hair.

"Dude, can we stop with the metaphors. I'm really tired."

"I love you, Stan."

Stan froze.

"What?"

"I love you too, Stan. I don't know how long I've loved you, but I do. It's just – I was afraid to tell you cause…," Kyle bit his lip and cast his eyes to the side. "Cause I didn't know what you'd expect from me."

Stan was still reeling from those three little words that had escaped from Kyle's mouth. Kyle's beautiful, beautiful mouth.

"Dude."

Kyle smiled. He hugged his arms around his chest. "I didn't know how to tell you. I always liked that you touched me, put your arm around me. But at the same time it worried me."

Stan frowned. "Why? Oh, dude, I was always afraid I was being stupid."

"Being yourself isn't stupid, Stan," Kyle said offhandedly. "I was just afraid that it represented…something else."

Stan's confusion returned.

"Kyle, I love you. I love that you're a fucking genius at times, but please stop being cryptic with me. Please just tell me what you want to say."

Kyle nodded, scooting himself closer to Stan. He rested his head against Stan's forehead and sighed.

"I wanted this," he said, wrapping his arms around Stan. He looked up, "And this."

Before Stan could react, Kyle was kissing him. His best friend was kissing him. His Super Best Friend was kissing him. His Kyle was kissing him!

Stan leaned into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Kyle's waist. Suddenly they were pressed against the mattress. Stan could feel Kyle gingerly caress the top of Stan's head with his injured fingers. Moving his own hands down, Stan braced them against Kyle's hips.

It was as if every daydream and fantasy he'd had, came flooding to the surface. Kyle loved him. Kyle had kissed him. And now Kyle was in his bed. Everything was perfect.

Except that Kyle was pushing at his chest, pushing him away.

"Dude, wait a sec," Kyle panted. Stan stopped, his whole body shaking with a new rush of energy and hormones. Oh, how he'd wanted this moment for so long.

"Stan, please get off me for a moment," Kyle asked in a small voice. Stan rolled onto his side.

"Did I hurt you or something? Oh, fuck, that was too much right? Oh shit, dude, I'm sorry!"

"STAN!"

"Yes…."

Kyle touched Stan's cheek.

"See this is why I was scared to tell you. Cause I can't give you what you want, dude."

Stan panicked. "What do you mean? You said you loved me, right?"

Kyle kissed him again, this time quick and on the forehead.

"I do love you."

"I don't see the problem."

Kyle groaned. "Do I really have to spell it out?"

"You forget, Kyle, I'm an idiot. So yes."

"I think I'm asexual, dude."

"You reproduce like bacteria?"

Kyle smacked him in the arm.

"I'm trying to tell you something deep and meaningful and life altering about myself. So don't joke!"

"Alright, sorry," Stan said covering his head with his hands, afraid Kyle would smack him in the face. "But I'm still not sure what that means."

"I don't want to have sex. Like ever."

"Oh…."

"Yeah."

"At least, I think that's what I am," Kyle said, lying back down and staring at the ceiling. "I really don't know what to think about it. I mean I'm curious about sex. I've gotten aroused before even, but it's just when people talk about it, I get bored. I've watched some of Kenny's porno's thinking I just need to see it to make me want to have it, but all I ended up doing was pestering Kenny about the plot and characters. He got so annoyed with me when I asked him why this big breasted blonde chick had only pet snakes in her pet shop, when clearly her sign on the front door said she sold a whole variety of different animals."

Stan wanted to laugh. "Uh, dude, I think it was a metaphor – the snakes I mean."

"Really? What sin and vice? Was it like a biblical reference?"

Stan snorted. "More like a penis reference."

"Ah, see now that makes sense," Kyle said thoughtfully. "I guess I just didn't notice. I was just really annoyed that there weren't any more pets in the shop. I mean she had wire cages for hamsters and mice, but only snakes in them."

"Maybe the snakes ate all of the little creatures," Stan mused. He was trying very hard not to laugh at Kyle's logical approach to porn. He kind of wished he'd seen Kenny's face as Kyle asked him such inane questions.

"So, when did you start watching porn with Kenny?" Stan asked.

"It didn't become habit. After the second movie, he forbade me from watching porn with him ever again."

"I see."

"Yeah."

Stan thought for a moment and then rolled closer to Kyle.

"So you were afraid to tell me you liked me, cause you thought I'd try to have my way with you?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "That sounds gay, dude."

"I am gay, dude."

"I've known that since tenth grade."

Stan's eyes grew round. "Y-you have?"

"It was rather obvious."

"What was obvious?" Stan asked, wringing his hands together. He grinned sheepishly.

"You finding any excuse to touch me."

"You didn't like that?"

"Did I say I didn't like it?" Kyle retorted. Stan shook his head.

"I'm confused to what you like and don't like, dude," Stan said.

Kyle sighed. "Me too."

"So…are we like boyfriends now?" Stan asked hopefully. He sounded childish, but couldn't help the giddiness slipping into his voice.

Kyle buried his face in the covers. He started laughing into the fabric, rolling over he clutched at his sides. Stan laughed too. He threw his arms around Kyle and tugged him closer.

"That sounded so gay, dude."

"Duh."

Kyle wiped at his eyes. "So you're okay with me being…difficult?"

Stan brushed a few stray curls off of Kyle's face.

"Uh, dude, when are you not difficult? And when have I ever fucking cared?"

"True."

Stan smiled. "Can I kiss you again?"

Kyle snorted, pressing himself closer to Stan's side.

"Knock yourself out."

* * *

><p>Stan lay in Kyle's bed waiting for him to return from the shower. Stan had retreated to the bathroom earlier, washing his face and hair in the sink. He had scrubbed his scalp until he was satisfied all the blood had washed away.<p>

After their second kiss, Kyle had noticed his own abysmal hygienic state and strong lack of clean clothes and had scurried to the edge of the bunk bed. Like before, Kyle took his time stepping down the ladder. He hesitated before the final jump down. Stan, on the other hand, had clambered off his bed, onto the desk, and then straight to the floor.

"Show off," Kyle had murmured, but allowed Stan to guide him down the rest of the steps.

"You know, dude," Stan commented, trying to hide his smile, "if you did fall off the bunk I don't think it would hurt you that bad. You're just as sturdy as I am."

Kyle rolled his eyes and pushed past Stan to reach his closet.

"I just hate being high up."

"You seem pretty fine getting yourself up there," Stan noted.

"Yeah, it's coming down that's always the hard part. I also don't like not being able to see where I'm going."

Stan reclined in his armchair. "It's just a little ladder, dude."

"Shut up."

Stan chuckled. He watched Kyle collect his toiletries and toss a felt robe over his arm. Kyle poked at the hole in his costume sleeve.

"She's going to hate me when she sees what's happened to it," Kyle sighed.

"I'm sure it's fixable," Stan said, closing his eyes and leaning back in the chair. "Plus, Bebe will probably be more concerned with what you did to your hands."

Kyle glanced down at his fingers. Kenny had left them the bag of bandages, and Kyle planned on redressing his wounds after he'd thoroughly cleaned himself.

"I don't really remember doing this," Kyle said indicating his fingers. Stan opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry I didn't get you out sooner."

"Dude, I told you to stop saying you were sorry."

"Well, I can't help it. I feel like I kind of failed you there."

Kyle set down his things and approached the chair. He clambered up into it and lay across Stan's chest. The redhead hugged Stan around the neck, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"I might not remember trying to claw my way out of the grave, but I do remember that someone held me while I was down there," Kyle whispered. "I was still scared cause I thought it was an illusion, that whoever was with me would disappear if I even tried to focus on them."

Stan wrapped his arms around Kyle's waist.

"I wouldn't have disappeared, dude."

"I know you wouldn't," Kyle said, kissing Stan on the lips this time. "You would have stayed with me all night, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

Kyle scooted off the chair, standing up straight.

"See, Stan, you did help me. Quit beating yourself up, and just come to terms with the fact that you'll always be this big damn hero."

"I don't feel like a hero," Stan confessed.

Kyle started picking up his bath things. "Well, to me you are, and as far as I'm concerned that's all that matters. Fuck anyone else who tells you otherwise."

And with that, Kyle left the room.

Rolling over in Kyle's bed, Stan watched the door slide open as Kyle returned wrapped in his bath robe and his soiled costume bunched up under one arm. His eyes heavy and his step slow, he returned his belongings to his closet and shut the door to change. Stan curled himself into a ball waiting. His heart beat too fast and he was trying to rein in his overactive imagination. He just couldn't get the thought of _Kyle's now my boyfriend and he's naked in that closet right now_ out of his head.

There was a loud thump and Kyle cursed.

Stan sat up. "You okay?"

"It's really hard to put on pants when you're fingers are all raw," Kyle explained. A few more sounds of scuffling within the closet and Kyle emerged wearing plaid green pajamas with his shirt unbutton. Stan tried not to stare.

Holding out his now clean hands, Kyle asked, "Would you help me?"

"Sure, dude."

He didn't do as good a job as Kenny, but Stan managed to secure the extra gauze tightly around each one of Kyle's fingers. It made his stomach queasy to see his friend's fingers in the glaring light of their dorm room. They still looked too raw and bloody. Kyle sighed to himself as Stan finished up the wrappings on his left pointer finger. Stan replaced the left over gauze and disinfectant cream in the plastic bag and then set it upon Kyle's desk.

"Thanks," Kyle said. He blushed suddenly and asked, "You wouldn't – uh – mind buttoning up my shirt would you? I can't really get a good grasp on the little buttons."

He wriggled his fingers to emphasize the point. Stan nodded and took a hold of Kyle's shirt pulling him closer.

Stan chuckled and Kyle frowned at him.

"What?" the redhead snapped.

"Nothing," Stan smiled.

He took his time with each button, fastening it securely and being careful to only brush Kyle's skin quickly and without notice. Kyle blinked sleepily up at him, yawning in his face.

After he fastened the last button, Stan ducked his head and kissed Kyle on the lips. He felt Kyle grin against him.

"I like it when you kiss me," Kyle sighed when Stan pulled away.

"Well, that's good."

"Yeah."

"Cause I promise to do it a lot more from now on."

"Good cause I'd think you were an asshole if you didn't."

Back in Kyle's bed, Stan wrapped his arm around his friend and pressed him close to his side. Kyle lay with his head resting against Stan's shoulder and his bandaged right hand splayed against the taller boy's chest. They lay in silence, once again listening to the hum of the electrical noises their room produced. The mini fridge churned its ice and the light above their heads buzzed.

"Do you really want to sleep with the light on?" Stan said squinting up at the overhead lamp.

"Um…if you promise to sleep with me all night then you can turn it off," Kyle offered. Stan bolted out of bed, flicked off the light, and returned to Kyle's arms within mere seconds. The plastic stars on the wall glowed with life.

"Dude, like you even have to ask if I want to share a bed with you."

Kyle snorted with laughter.

"I missed sleeping with you. It was always so much warmer and I didn't have as many bad dreams."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

Stan took a hold of Kyle's wrapped fingers and gave each one a kiss. Kyle rolled his eyes.

"You're such a loser, Stan."

"A loser with a fucking adorable boyfriend."

"You find me adorable?"

"I find you really fucking adorable, dude."

Kyle buried his head in Stan's arm. Stan grinned stupidly to himself. He felt like singing or dancing or jumping down the hallways and shouting from the rooftops that Kyle was his.

But that would mean he'd have to get out of Kyle's bed, and he was quite happy where he was.

Kyle watched Stan link their fingers together gingerly. He smiled to himself.

"Goodnight, Stan."

"Night, Kyle."

* * *

><p>To be continued...<p>

Thanks for reading! See you next chapter. One more to go.


	8. I Love You, Stan

And here's the final chapter. Wow. This marks the longest fan fic I've ever written. I feel so proud. ^_^

Thank you all for reading it through to the end. And thanking you all for the wonderful reviews and comments. I really appreciated it.

Please enjoy the last chapter. :D

**Summary:** College can be a time for academic achievement for many, unsupervised partying for others, and a chance to discover who you really are to the world. Or to your best friend. Stan Marsh's first Halloween as a college Freshman leads him on a long night's journey of understanding into the inner workings of a Super Best Friendship.

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Style

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park. This is simply for fun and writing practice.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight – I Love You, Stan<strong>

Stan woke to the sound of rain drumming against the dorm room's tiny window. He lay in bed, warm and drowsy, listening to the slush and scatter of rain drops against glass. He rolled over, tugging the covers closer to his chest. He bumped up against something solid and soft, and thinking it his pillow wrapped an arm around it. For a moment he buried his face into something scratchy and woolen-like while clamping his arm tighter around his warm pillow. _Strange_, he thought, _I don't remember my pillow being this itchy_. He also didn't remember his pillow having the capability to breathe.

Something smacked him in the face. Snapping his eyes open, Stan found a bandaged hand lying across his nose. He shifted away from the appendage and blinked several times. As his eyes focused he found himself staring into the sleeping face of his best friend. Kyle snored peacefully with his jaw hanging open. The redhead slept sprawled out over Stan's body. One of his legs rested over Stan's knees while his right hand nudged Stan in the cheek.

Realizing the itchiness he had rubbed his face against was actually Kyle's bushy hair; Stan chuckled and ran a hand slowly through the mane, tugging a few curls. Kyle frowned and turned away from Stan. He curled up into a ball, his fists clenching.

Stan leaned over his friend's side and kissed his ear. Kyle twitched and opened one eye.

"Go away," Kyle groaned into his pillow. Stan smiled and hugged his arms around Kyle.

"Good morning, my love!"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Please tell me you aren't going to refer to me like this in public conversation."

"Why not?" Stan said nuzzling his face into Kyle's hair. Kyle hunched his shoulders.

"It sounds gay."

"Oh no, it does? I guess I should do more hetero things like sleeping in the same bed with another guy, you think?"

"Probably." Kyle yawned and sat up. Stan kissed him again.

"It's raining," Kyle noted lamely, lying back down. Stan lay down too.

"Yeah…so we can like just stay inside all day….," Stan suggested, grinning like an idiot. Kyle closed his eyes.

"Ugh, what time is it?"

Stan rolled over and checked the clock.

"Almost eleven, dude."

Kyle sat up again and began shoving the blankets off of him. Stan pouted.

"Don't you want to like lay in bed for awhile longer, Kyle?" Stan asked, wrapping his hand around Kyle's wrist and giving it a light tug. Kyle continued to push the covers away. He looked down at Stan.

"I have homework, Stan. I also should go visit the school's clinic to get my hands properly looked at, I also need to call my mother because I didn't yesterday even though I said I would, and I have to fix my costume. I also –"

Stan kissed him again. Kyle frowned against Stan's lips.

"Dude, it's Saturday! You have all of Sunday to do shit," Stan said throwing up his hands. Kyle raised an eyebrow, scowling. Stan dropped his hands and slumped his shoulders. "…or you can be productive today and leave me to mope."

"I'm glad you understand," Kyle smiled, sliding out of bed and heading for his closet. Stan frowned and followed reluctantly by rolling lazily out of bed and shuffling over to his computer.

At that moment Kyle's phone buzzed.

"Can you get that? If it's my mother tell her I didn't forget, okay?"

Stan flipped open Kyle's phone and saw a text message from Kenny pop up on screen.

"It's Kenny," Stan informed.

"Oh thank God," Kyle cheered from inside the closet where he changed, "I really didn't want to deal with her this early in the morning."

Stan read the text from Kenny:

_Hey, dudes!_

_ Hows kyles hands? You two sleep ok? No more falling into graves? LOL_

Stan started to reply. He called to Kyle.

"Kenny wants to know how your hands feel. Also he thinks he's funny, and he's failing at it."

"Tell him I can't grasp anything properly and that the gauze makes it hard to flip people off," Kyle replied.

"Okay."

Stan returned the reply and closed the phone. It buzzed a few seconds later. Kenny sent another text.

_HAha XD Tell him he'll just need you to spoon feed him and help him get dressed ;)_

Stan's ears grew warm and his face turned red. He told Kenny to stop being a pervert to which Kenny replied that he had no idea what Stan was going on about. Stan shut the phone again and set it back on Kyle's desk. He moved to his own seat and pulled his laptop towards him and checked the weather. The phone buzzed one more time.

Kyle emerged from the closet now dressed in an ugly brown sweater and jeans. He stalked over to his desk and picked up the phone. He read the first couple of lines and raised an eyebrow.

"Why's Kenny suggesting that you take off my pants?" Kyle asked with a serious face. Stan's mouth dropped open. Kyle added, "He's also giving you hints on what other functions leather belts can have."

Stan's face was beet red. "I have no idea, dude. It's Kenny. He's like crazy or something."

"I see."

"Totally, yeah."

Stan turned from Kyle and began skimming through a news article he'd pulled up on his computer's home page. Suddenly a pair of arms wrapped around his neck from behind. Kyle rested his chin atop Stan's head and hugged him to his chest. Kyle leaned down to kiss his cheek.

"Is it going to rain all day?" Kyle asked into Stan's ear.

Stan shook his head, feeling Kyle's warmth drift over him. If Stan had the option he would have melted in his seat.

"Er…no. N-no it's suppose to clear up later."

"How about we go for a walk later? When I've gotten everything done, we can take a walk around campus or something – maybe head into the town," Kyle suggested. Stan liked that idea.

"Sure!" He spun around and caught hold of Kyle's waist and tugged him into his lap. Kyle smiled allowing himself to be jostled around. Stan beamed. "How long is it going to take you?"

"Well, I'm leaving for the nurse now. You can come with me if you want."

Ten minutes later, Stan and Kyle walked through the damp streets of the campus, picking their way over busted jack-o-lanterns, littered plastic cups, and broken glass bottles. Stan had insisted on bringing only one umbrella so that he could offer to hold it for Kyle. The two walked pressed together, with Stan's arm securely fastened around Kyle's waist and with Kyle leaning his head into Stan's shoulder. The rain continued to sprinkle down with mist soaking through their clothes despite the shelter of the umbrella.

After Kyle tripped over Stan's large feet for the third time, he complained, "You know Stan. I have an umbrella too. I could have brought it with me."

"But this is nicer."

"I keep stepping on your toes, and it's too small. I keep getting dripped on," Kyle moaned. Stan tugged him closer to his side.

"Does that help?"

"No."

Stan stopped and tried to readjust the umbrella. He held it higher, but the wind buffeted it, and he ended up knocking Kyle in the head with it.

"Oh shit, dude! I'm sorry!"

Kyle held up his hands. He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed.

"Stan, please stop trying so hard. You don't have to do back-flips to impress me or anything. I'm not going anywhere."

Stan fiddled with the umbrella handle. He stared down at his feet.

"But I want to do this…."

"Why?" Kyle sighed, crossing his arms.

Stan shrugged. "I don't know…it's just what I want to do. It makes me happy."

Kyle stepped closer and pressed his forehead to Stan's shoulder. He hugged him.

"Stan, put up the umbrella. We'll just walk the rest of the way in the rain. It's not pouring or anything," Kyle suggested.

Stan began folding up the umbrella. "You sure?"

Kyle smiled up at him. "Yes. Plus when we get home…we can sit under the blanket together to get warm again. I'll do my homework, and we can sit together? How's that sound?"

"Wonderful, dude. Fucking sweet." Stan wrapped his arm around Kyle's waist and led him down the sidewalk.

As they turned a corner, a sleek black car pulled up beside them and parked. Idling at the curb, the driver's side door swung open and a figure wearing a heavy, long coat stepped out. Stan stopped in his tracks, instinctively pulling Kyle behind him.

Terry stood in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking their path forward. The young man rubbed at his neck and gazed at the wet ground. Stan's hand holding the umbrella curled tightly into a fist while his other hand shook as he held Kyle's arm.

Stan narrowed his eyes. "You can just get the fuck away from us now."

Terry stuffed his hands into his pockets. He cleared his throat as if preparing to talk, but instead cast his eyes to the side and back. Stan followed his gaze and saw Roger sitting within the car on the passenger's side. He stared straight ahead with an annoyed expression on his face. His arm was in a cast, and the left side of his face sported a number of bandages. His nose looked swollen and he had a black eye. Stan stared for a moment, realizing that after Wendy's party and Cartman's beating, Roger had disappeared. He hadn't been among the group in the cemetery. Stan guessed Cartman's beating had kept him bed ridden for the night.

Stan turned back to Terry.

"I'm here to apologize," explained the young man. He swept a hand through his thick brown hair and avoided his teammate's eye, taking a step closer. Stan made an involuntary movement with the umbrella, and Terry stopped.

"You want to apologize?" Stan asked slowly, not sure he'd heard correct.

Terry nodded. "Yes."

"Why?" shot Kyle leaning out from behind Stan.

Turning up the collar of his coat, Terry put on a solemn, pained expression.

"I can't apologize? I feel bad; I want to apologize."

Kyle stepped forward and crossed his arms over his chest. He glared up at the other boy, scrutinizing his face. For a brief moment, Kyle and Terry glared at each other. Terry's face was contorted as if he tasted something foul. After a few moments he moved his gaze back up to Stan, and his face softened. With a sudden flourish, Kyle turned on his heel and addressed Stan.

"What's your coach's policy on fighting?" he asked. Stan blinked.

"Uh…what?"

"And drinking," Kyle added. "What would your coach do to someone who 'hypothetically' got drunk and then terrorized some gay teenagers?"

Stan's eyes widened with realization. Terry flinched.

"Oh, he'd be pretty fucking pissed," Stan said, nodding. "I'd figure he might even suspend or even expel the dude from the team."

Terry made a hesitant step forward. He glanced back over at Roger in the car who frowned up at him.

"Look, Stan, I really am sorry. I was pissed off and a bit drunk. I let things get out of control and I'm sorry –"

"Like leaving us in an open grave to freeze to death," Kyle cut in. Terry gave him a disgusted look, but turned back to Stan.

"Please, I just want to apologize," he pressed holding out his hands.

"Alright, then," Stan said and Terry's face brightened. Stan continued, "you apologized. I don't accept it. But good for you for making an effort. Come on, Kyle."

Stan took a step, but Terry moved in front of him. He laughed nervously.

"I don't want any hard feelings. I mean it. You're a great quarterback and -"

"I don't really have anything I feel towards you," Stan cut in. "I thought I should be angry, but now I'm just tired. So please just go away." Stan brushed past the other boy, but Terry caught hold of his arm. It seemed like a spark flashed between the two as Stan stared his teammate down. Terry clung to Stan's arm for a few more seconds and then dropped his hand.

"Please don't tell coach," he begged. Terry's eyes darted towards Roger once again. "I need to be on the team. I'll...lose my scholarship."

For a brief moment, Stan thought of Kenny, and yet at the same time wondered how much truth Terry spoke. Kyle moved to Stan's side, squeezing into the small space between Stan and Terry. Kyle looked the young man up and down with cold eyes.

"You should have thought of that before you decided to bury us alive," Kyle snapped, taking a hold of Stan's elbow and leading him down the sidewalk. Stan cast his eyes over his shoulder, watching Terry stand defeated in the middle of the sidewalk. Roger stepped hesitantly out of the car. His bandaged face appeared much shallower and thinner in the gray light of the early afternoon. He stared with dark-rimmed eyes at Stan and Kyle's retreating figures, before clapping Terry on the shoulder and tugging him back towards the car. Before Stan turned the corner out of sight, he saw Terry wipe at his face, kicking out at his car's tire.

Kyle was in one of his moods.

"Can you fucking believe him? Really?" Kyle fumed. "He beat the shit out of you and threw me in a fucking grave. And for what? Cause he was drunk? Bull shit!"

Stan looked down at his feet.

"Was it really because I refused to be in Delta?" Stan mused, though another voice in the back of his head guessed that it had to do with something else. Stan couldn't get Roger's bandaged face out of his mind. For a brief second, Stan's eyes flickered to Kyle's fingers.

"Who cares…," Kyle scoffed. "I just hope I don't see him for the next four years."

The rain had yet to let up. It came down in a slow drizzle. Stan and Kyle were already soaked through, and Kyle shivered. Stan offered to open the umbrella again.

"Hey, Stan," Kyle said after a pause, "what is your coach's stance on – homosexuality?"

Stan chuckled. "What, do you think he's your stereotypical redneck, good-old-boy who'd start up an angry mob if he knew the quarterback was queer?"

"I was thinking along those lines, yes," Kyle confessed.

"Nah, he's cool. He's all about respect. That's the only thing he ever really tells us that isn't football related. He sits us down before every practice and says 'boys, I know you might hate me for the five mile lap I'm about to have you run, but it's only cause I respect you."

Stan chuckled. "I always took it as his way of getting us to stop complaining."

"Oh…." Kyle looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Were you afraid I'd get kicked off the team for being gay?" Stan asked, touching Kyle's shoulder.

"Sort of. I thought this was something you'd have to keep on the down low if you wanted to play professionally."

Stan scratched his head.

"Well, who says I want to play professionally? I just really like football, but I'm not sure I want to do it forever," Stan explained. Kyle's eyes grew round.

"But I thought that's what you always wanted to do? Play football. It was all you ever did in high school," Kyle noted. "It was like your life. Every Friday night."

Stan blushed. "There was something else I looked forward to every Friday night."

"What?"

"Being with you," Stan whispered. Kyle stopped and Stan continued, sheepishly, "We'd hang out after almost every game, dude. It was the one thing I looked forward to. It was like my reward for participating in the stupid game. I didn't care half the time if I won or lost, but I guess I did care what you'd think of me if I didn't even try."

Kyle rubbed his elbows self-consciously. "I guess we did have a lot of sleepovers even up 'til high school…."

Stan fiddled with the strap around the umbrella. "Yeah, we did."

Kyle's face had turned bright red. "I always chickened out."

"What?"

"I lost count of the times I wanted to ask you to sleep in my bed with me, for old times sake. But I worried you would – I mean – I didn't want to give you the wrong impression. I just really missed lying next to you at night. I think last night was like the best sleep I've ever gotten in the longest fucking time, dude. It was crazy."

Stan smiled and stepped closer to Kyle. He leaned down to kiss him just as a car drove past and splashed their ankles with murky brown water. Kyle cursed and shuffled to the grass to hide under a tree.

"Dammit! These are my favorite socks," Kyle moaned, pulling up his pant leg to check on the condition of his argyle footwear. Stan tried to repress a grin. Kyle was such a nerd sometimes it was almost painful to watch.

"I'm sure they'll dry," Stan grinned, leaning in again for his kiss. Kyle continued to pout down at his socks as Stan pecked him on the cheek.

"So," Stan said, straightening up and grinning down at Kyle, "you liked sleeping with me?"

Kyle rolled his eyes, but decided to play along. "Oh yeah, dude. I loved it. I could do it all night long."

"Wow," Stan gave a mock laugh, "I didn't think you had that kind of stamina, dude."

Kyle crossed his arms. "Of course, Stan. I'm so good I do it with my eyes closed."

Stan clapped.

"Impressive, my friend."

Kyle made a mock bow. "I try."

Stan laughed, and Kyle stood on his toes to kiss him.

"Now, come on, dude, my fingers are already raw enough without this fucking weather freezing them off," Kyle started, sloshing his way through the damp grass in the direction of the health clinic. Stan followed close behind.

"Don't worry. The weather site said it was going to get warmer later!" Stan announced cheerfully. He took hold of Kyle's hand and gave it a squeeze. "But don't worry, until then I'll hold your hand to keep it warm."

Kyle waved the other hand in front of Stan's face.

"What about this one?"

"Give it here." Tucking the umbrella under one arm, Stan pressed Kyle's hands between his two palms.

Walking in such a manner proved a bit awkward, but they quickly fell into a step they could both keep pace with. Kyle stared down at their clasped hands.

"So gay…."

"I know," Stan beamed, "isn't it awesome?"

"Yes," Kyle agreed but pulled his hands back. "But now my fingers are all sweaty. Ewww."

He wiped them off on Stan's letterman jacket. Stan raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Kyle asked.

Stan pulled Kyle into a one armed hug.

"Nothing…," Stan nudged Kyle's shoulder. "I just love you is all."

* * *

><p>By the time they returned from the nurse's clinic and settled back into their dorm, it was one in the afternoon. Kyle set about collecting his books and folders for his assignment and buried himself in the corner of his bed to reread several passages of text. Stan had stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, shrugging off his jacket. He put it, and the umbrella inside his closet and turned back to Kyle. The redhead was now immersed in a large volume titled <em>'Descartes and<em> _Your Mind: Which One Really Exists?'_. Stan frowned at the book; he could never really wrap his head around a lot of the philosophical ideas Kyle talked about. Then again there was a lot of things Kyle talked about that Stan didn't understand: math, science, gefilte fish, Kyle's sexuality. But Stan had come to learn that if he was patient enough, Kyle would explain it all to him.

Still standing nervously in the middle of the room, Stan glanced around for something to do. He'd already finished his homework. He spied his old Game Boy sticking out of his desk drawer, but didn't feel up to hunting for his games in the messy avalanche of papers and soda cans that was his desktop. He eyed the mini refrigerator to his left and knelt down to explore it.

"Want me to make lunch?" Stan offered, looking back at Kyle who still had his face hidden by his large book.

"Like what?" Kyle asked, turning a page.

"Uh…there's left over pizza?"

"No."

"Some soup. I could warm it up."

"Nah."

Stan straightened up and moved to the low shelves bolted to the wall above their desks. Kyle's shelf sported a neat array of books, folders, and several DVD cases. Stan's held several bags of half-empty potato chip bags, two boxes of Easy Mac, and five cans of Spaghetti-Os.

Stan pulled down one of the cans and waved it at Kyle. The redhead looked up and wrinkled his nose.

"Fine."

Stan scrambled through his desk for his can opener. Finding it he walked over to the microwave and began opening the can. He dumped the contents of oozing tomato sauce and noodles into a large plastic bowl and stuffed it into the microwave. Hitting start Stan leaned against Kyle's desk to wait. He glanced up at the row of neatly packed books above his head and spotted a familiar pink paperback sticking out from the far corner. Pulling it down, Stan smiled at the book's cover. He rifled through several yellowed pages, finding Kyle's spot somewhere at the end of the book. Kyle never dog-eared his books. He always had a small supply of fancy, colorful bookmarks to keep his place.

Stan held up the book.

"I can't believe you still have this."

Kyle peeked out over his large textbook. He squinted at the pink book's cover.

"Oh yeah. I really liked it, dude. It's a nice story."

"Yeah," Stan agreed, flipping back to Kyle's marked place. He read a few lines and frowned. He remembered the end of the book hadn't been a favorite of his. The microwave beeped at his elbow, and Stan set down the book to retrieve their lunch. He found two spoons and plucked them on top of the bowl and retreated to Kyle's bed. He shuffled his way up to the wall where Kyle sat tucked in the corner. He offered the bowl to Kyle.

"One bowl?"

"It was the only one I had clean," Stan said sheepishly. Kyle eyed the plastic bowl.

"I don't think this one's very clean either, dude."

Stan took a spoonful of Spaghetti-Os and blowing them cool, stuffed the spoon in his mouth. He grinned.

"Not dirty enough that I can't enjoy it," Stan countered, taking another bite. Kyle reached over and grabbed his own spoon with a bit of difficulty due to his injured fingers. He took a bite and chewed as if showing Stan that he too could be just as daring. Stan chuckled and turned back to the little pink book in his lap. He opened it to Kyle's saved spot and read.

Kyle grabbed the bowl of pasta and began wiping the rim of it with a tissue he'd pulled out of his pocket.

"I never liked this part," Stan murmured, pointing at the book. "I always felt like Ursula failed. She couldn't be the prince she wanted to be."

Kyle gulped down another mouthful of pasta, satisfied with the bowl's cleanliness.

"Why?"

"She couldn't save Angie."

"But she did save her," Kyle countered, now examining the spoon for dirt spots, finding it clean dropped it back in the bowl.

"No, she didn't," Stan argued. He turned the page. "She let Angie fall."

"You forget though," Kyle explained, stirring the contents of the plastic dish, "that she crawled across the tower room, bleeding, mind you, from a deep sword wound. She could barely stand. Do you think she would have done something that noble at the beginning of the story? Despite her claim of being a prince? No, it was when her friend needed her, no matter what shape her body was in, Ursula was going to help. Sure she couldn't hold her forever, and Angie fell. But that's all Angie needed. She saw what Ursula attempted. That started the spark that allowed her to leave her nightmare and shatter all her fears. In the end, the magical power – this great power everyone wanted – was no more complicated than showing someone a little bit of kindness."

Stan sat watching Kyle down a few more bites of Spaghetti-Os before propping his textbook up to continue reading. Stan pulled the bowl over and fished around inside for a few more spoonfuls.

"I guess I didn't think of the story like that," Stan confessed. "I just always saw what was happening on the surface. And for the longest time I thought it sucked."

"Well, that's just my interpretation of the story," Kyle said.

"Oh no, I like your interpretation, dude. Don't get me wrong. Plus," Stan blushed a little, "I like it when you explain complicated stuff to me."

"I didn't find the story all that complicated," Kyle noted, looking up from his book.

"Yeah, I guess. I'm just stupid…."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Stan, you're not stupid. It's a children's story book. Don't beat yourself up over it."

"That's not what I meant, dude," Stan replied. He set his dish on the ground and turned back to Kyle. "I'm just trying to give you a compliment. You're really smart…and always know what to say."

Kyle smiled, rubbing his now professionally bandaged fingers over the edge of the book's spine.

"Thanks. But you can shut up now."

"Why? What if I want to talk more about how awesomely smart you are?"

Chuckling softly, Kyle shook his head, hiding behind his textbook once again. Stan frowned at being ignored and decided to lie across Kyle's lap.

Kyle raised an eyebrow. "Dude?"

"How much longer do you have to work on homework?" Stan mumbled into Kyle's knees.

"I have to write a response paper to this chapter I'm reading," Kyle explained, running his fingers through Stan's hair.

"How long's the paper?" Stan asked, closing his eyes.

"Not too long."

"Good."

"Are you going to fall asleep on my lap, Stan?"

"I might."

"It's going to make doing homework rather difficult."

"No it won't," Stan yawned. He rubbed his cheek against Kyle's shin.

Poking Stan in the head, Kyle said, "If you go get my laptop for me now, I can do all my homework right here and you can lay on me all you want."

Stan got up without a word. He unplugged the computer from the wall and returned it to Kyle's bed. Then Stan lay back down, curling up against Kyle's side as the other boy started up the laptop and pulled his thick textbook back to his side.

Stan dozed for awhile, listening to the sound of Kyle click away at his computer's keyboard. It was slow going for the first fifteen minutes what with his bandaged fingers hindering his movement. Several times, Kyle had to pause to flex his hands and allow his injured fingers to relax. Stan watched him.

"You want me to do that?" Stan offered.

"What?"

"I can type out your paper. So you don't hurt your hands." Stan sat up and pulled Kyle's laptop towards him. Kyle narrowed his brow as if thinking about it.

"I don't know, dude, I change my thought process so quickly. You'd get annoyed at how many times I'd make you rewrite one sentence," Kyle explained, giving a forced laugh.

Stan shrugged. "I don't care, dude. I got nothing else to do. Plus, you shouldn't be doing anything to your fingers that could hurt them more."

Kyle curled his fingers to examine the tips.

"I guess this will make things go faster too?"

"Definitely," Stan nodded. He poised his hands over the keyboard, ready for Kyle's instructions. It took several false starts to get a rhythm going, but soon, Stan was typing away with Kyle reciting in his ear. Sometimes Kyle would have Stan stop and read back to him what he'd just typed. Then Kyle would have Stan delete it and start over with a whole brand new thought. It was interesting to witness, Stan mused. Kyle would skim his textbook several times before relating to Stan what he wanted written. Eventually it became more of a conversation between the two, than a dictation. Stan was still thoroughly confused by the subject matter, but it seemed to help Kyle ten-fold to actually approach the paper as if it were an explanatory piece. In the end, after Kyle reread the response paper for the third time, he commented to Stan that having him as an outsider to the subject, allowed for Kyle to search for better thought-out explanations.

"I'm glad my stupidity could help you out," Stan chuckled, watching Kyle replace his laptop on the table. He stuffed his textbook back into his backpack.

Turning around with a new frown forming, Kyle said, "Didn't I tell you to stop that? For the rest of the day, you are not allowed to put yourself down."

"Okay…you know it would help my self-esteem a lot more if you kissed me," Stan said offhandedly. He shrugged a bit, examining a loose thread on Kyle's bedcovers.

Kyle sat down on the bed, smiling. Stan smiled too.

"Well, here I am," Kyle whispered, "what are you waiting for?"

Nothing.

Stan slipped his arms about Kyle's waist and pulled him to his chest. Kyle grew ridged for only a brief second, before falling limp into the embrace. Pressed together with their legs slightly entwined, the two kissed, they're touches hesitant. Stan moved his hands up to press against the small of Kyle's back, keeping him in place. He crinkled his fingers into the fabric of Kyle's sweater, tugging it up and touching the soft skin he found beneath. Suddenly, Kyle went stiff.

Stan broke the kiss.

"Dude?"

Kyle blushed and yanked his sweater back down.

"Um…yeah, don't – don't do that, okay?" Kyle said, blushing. His breathing came out quick, and he avoided Stan's eye.

"I'm sorry. Maybe…maybe you can tell me what you want me to do? Like what's okay for you or not? I don't want to do anything you aren't comfortable with," Stan said helpfully, brushing a few strand of hair out of Kyle's face.

Kyle gave a small smile.

"Thanks, dude."

Stan kissed his forehead.

They tried again, but Stan could already tell the moment had passed. Instead they lay together with their foreheads pressed close, and their fingers linked. Stan rubbed his thumb over the scratchy bandages adorning Kyle's right hand. Kyle buried his face in Stan's shoulder.

Just then Kyle's phone buzzed.

Both boys started and looked down. Kyle fumbled in his jean pocket and produced his cell. He flipped it open and brought it to his ear.

"Hello?"

Stan waited, listening. He stroked Kyle's fingers one at a time.

"No…not really. Stan and I are just hanging out," Kyle spoke into the phone. He flushed and frowned. "No, Kenny, we are not doing _anything_. I swear you think everyone's doing something inappropriate all the time."

A pause followed. Stan felt his own face grow hot. Leave it to Kenny to bring up any and all taboo topic during a friendly chat on the phone. Stan wondered if he'd cotton on to their relationship yet. Kenny knew Stan had liked Kyle, but he didn't know they'd finally made a romantic relationship a reality.

"It is?" Kyle said, rolling over to look at the window. Stan glanced up as well and saw the sunlight streaming through the blinds. Kyle rolled back over and tucked himself closer to Stan's chest. Stan pressed his face into Kyle's hair.

"I don't think we're doing anything later…." Kyle glanced up at Stan. "Are we doing anything later?"

"I have no plans. You?'

Kyle shook his head and turned back to his phone.

"We're not doing anything tonight…uh huh…. Yeah. Okay. That's sounds cool. See you at seven thirty then."

Kyle shut his phone.

"We're meeting up for dinner with Kenny and everybody."

Stan frowned.

"Who's everybody?"

"Who else?"

"Cartman," Stan sighed.

"I guess we should be grateful to him. He could have left us in that hole," Kyle sighed. He rubbed his forehead. "I hate being indebted to that fat ass."

"I gave him lots of candy," Stan mused. "Maybe that'll satisfy him long enough."

Kyle chuckled. "Let's hope."

Later on in the afternoon, the boys awoke from a short nap they'd drifted into. Stan stretched, and watched Kyle blink blearily at the sunny sky outside their tiny window.

"It does look a lot warmer."

Stan moved to sit next to him on the edge of the bed.

"We should take advantage of it," Stan said cheerfully, wrapping his arm around Kyle's waist. He waited to see the other boy's reaction, but the touch seemed to pass whatever test Stan was trying out.

Kyle rubbed at his eyes and checked his watch.

"Like what?"

"Let's go for a walk in the nature park. The trees are all gold and red. It's really nice out. I'm sure the sun's dried up the ground too."

Kyle frowned. He wasn't much of a fan of 'nature.'

"I said a walk around campus, dude. The nature park isn't the campus."

"Aww, I think it'll be more fun. It's so nice out in the woods this time of year."

"How about we don't, and say we did?" Kyle said putting on a fake grin. Stan slumped his shoulders, pouting slightly.

"I guess we don't have to…."

Kyle huffed, rolling his eyes at Stan's pathetic expression.

"Fine. Let's go then. Where are my shoes?"

* * *

><p>The nature park located north of the campus was only a half hours walk on foot. Heading past the art building and football field, a small, winding path appeared that cut through the woods. The gravel path was most often used by the track team, and at every few intervals, Stan and Kyle had to sidestep a jogger or two. Stan had found himself running the path with his teammates on numerous training occasions. Kyle had only been up to the nature park during his painting class, which he took more for relaxation than to actually improve any artistic abilities. He complained to Stan about how long a trek the path had been when he'd had to carry his box of paints, canvas, and sketchbooks.<p>

"And what sucked most," Kyle said kicking at the gravel as they turned down a steeper part of the path, the trees surrounding them were gold with thick, wide leaves, "is the professor and his assistant _drove_ up to the park. He made the class walk!"

"Dude, that sucks." Stan said sympathetically. He reached out and grabbed Kyle's hand.

"At least we're done with landscapes now. It's getting too cold," Kyle explained, tugging his coat collar closer around his neck. Stan didn't find it that cold. The sun had appeared and most of the rain from this morning had dried away. In fact Stan had unzipped his jacket.

"What are you painting next?" Stan asked, swinging their hands slowly back and forth. He hummed to himself and smiled at a jogger who sidestepped them. She gave the two an odd look, but continued on down the path. For a brief moment, Stan wanted to turn around and shout after her, claiming that he was going for a walk with his _boyfriend_.

"Still life, I think." Kyle mused, frowning. "I'm sort of sick of staring at bowls of fruit."

Stan felt his cheeks redden. "Do you paint nudes?"

Kyle scratched his head.

"I think we might. Closer to the end of the year," Kyle guessed. He smirked. "Why do you want to be my subject?"

"NO!"

Kyle laughed.

"I think there are some female models that get paid to sit for us when we start painting nudes."

"I see," Stan said, rubbing at his neck. His face was still red.

They walked past a small cluster of red and orange colored trees and found themselves under a sparse canopy of limbs. The trees and foliage curled up over their heads making a kind of archway. Continuing on down the gravel path, Stan and Kyle grew quiet listening to the sounds of the park echo around them. Birds chirped and a rustling of leaves announced small creatures scurrying somewhere out of sight.

Stan drew closer to Kyle. He laced their fingers tighter together, rubbing his thumb over Kyle's bandages.

"It's really nice out, isn't it?"

"It's still cold and wet, and I have a rock in my shoe," Kyle said. Stan frowned, but Kyle smiled, "But that doesn't mean I want to go home yet. It's really is nice out, Stan. It's a lot more enjoyable when you don't have to carry a full box of paints with you."

"Yeah."

Kyle stood on his toes and kissed Stan's forehead.

"I love you, okay?"

Stan beamed his eyes slightly moist.

"I love you too!" He hugged Kyle to him. Another group of runners crossed their paths. Stan pulled away from Kyle and pointed at him, shouting at the retreating figures, "He's my boyfriend!"

"Dude! Shut up!" Kyle laughed, smacking Stan in the shoulder.

"Why?"

"You're acting like an idiot."

"But I want to act like an idiot."

Kyle shook his head and tugged Stan down the path with him. Stan caught up to Kyle's side and went back to swinging their clasped hands back and forth to a gentle beat. Stan started humming to himself again. He looked up above his head and smiled at the dappled light streaming through the canopy of leaves and branches.

"I feel like singing, dude," Stan mused. Kyle rolled his eyes.

"Please don't."

"…_They say we're young and we don't know_…_We won't find out until we grow_…."

"For the love of Christ, Stan, stop that. People will hear."

"_Well, I don't know if all that's true. 'Cause you got me, and, baby, I got you_."

Stan grinned stupidly and Kyle glared him down as if daring him to sing another verse. Stan opened his mouth, but Kyle smacked him on the chest with the back of his hand.

"I said no."

Stan skipped away from him, darting out of his reach.

"_Babe… I got you babe…I got you babe!_"

Kyle chased him in a circle, trying to pelt him with pebbles.

"Aw, come on, dude, don't you want to join in?" Stan chuckled, ducking behind a tree. He sprinted out from under the shelter of the woods and climbed up onto a wooden fence built next to the path.

"No, I don't. I don't sing. I don't dance. Now, get down from there before you break something," Kyle said.

"_They say our love won't pay the rent. Before it's earned, our money's off and spent!_"

Kyle leaned against the fence.

"You forget, Stan, you're now dating a Jew. Our finances will be quite sound, I assure you…. Expect for that whole, I'm in debt up to my eyeballs 'cause I bailed out half the town that one time…."

Stan ignored him. Another jogger appeared, and Stan started singing at the top of his lungs.

"_I guess that's so, we don't have a pot. But at least I'm sure of all the things we got!_"

The guy jogging raised an eyebrow at Kyle, and the redhead shrugged and jerked his thumb at Stan's direction.

"He's in love. It's one of the symptoms – ballads, singing, you know shit like that. I'm sure he'll be over it by dinner," Kyle explained to the jogger. The young man gave him a weird look, and continued on his way.

"Sing with me, dude," Stan said raising his arms over his head.

"I don't know the words."

Stan dropped to the ground and tugged Kyle into a one armed hug.

"_I got you to hold my hand_…," Stan sung, pulling Kyle closer to his side. He smiled down at Kyle, who sighed.

A long pause and then,

"…_I got you to understand_," Kyle mumbled.

Stan beamed. "_I got you to walk with me._"

Kyle shook his head. "_I got you to talk with me._"

"_I got you to kiss goodnight._" Stan exclaimed, pressing his lips into Kyle's hair.

"_I got you to hold me tight_," Kyle murmured, blushing.

"_I got you, I won't let go_," Stan sang, swaying back and forth to his own humming.

"_I got you to love me so_," Kyle chorused a bit louder. He smiled.

Stan finished up the song, tugging Kyle back down the path to the nature park. No matter how many stares they received, Stan kept repeating the song. Eventually, Kyle gave in and threw his full force behind the lyrics. It finally came to a point where they were laughing into each other's faces as they sang the cheesy words. But they didn't care. No one mattered, but the two of them and they're stupid song.

"You're a retard, Stan, I swear. I don't know what I'm going to do with you," Kyle managed to say after calming down from another long bout of laughter, where both of them started cracking up if they even looked at the other. Stan grinned, feeling lighter than air.

"But you still love me right?"

Kyle shook his head. "I still love you, Stan."

* * *

><p>Arriving at the cafeteria around seven thirty that night, Stan and Kyle found Kenny, Wendy, Bebe and Cartman sitting around a table hidden in the farthest corner of the room. The college's lunch hall consisted of a circular room, with skylights high above. Now with dusk settled in, the light from within the room glared off the glass panels. The cafeteria was only half empty, and much of the dinner had already been packed up and cleared away. Kenny sat hunched over a large soup bowl. The girls shared a carton of breadsticks. Cartman had a tray filled with a half eaten sub sandwich, two bags of chips, and a large packet of cookies.<p>

"Sup, dudes," Kenny said nodding to Stan and Kyle as they approached. Kenny took one look at them and smirked. "It's about damn time."

"What?" Stan asked as he sat down. He had purchased his supper, which included a veggie burger. Cartman scowled at the soybean burger patty as if it were mocking him.

Kenny chuckled. He pointed to Stan and then to Kyle.

"Something's different about you. I can tell by the way Stan's smiling like a fucking moron and that you don't look as wound up as usual. Like you finally learned how to relax," Kenny explained to his friends.

Wendy and Bebe looked up from their breadsticks.

"What's he going on about?" Wendy asked Stan.

Stan blushed. "I'm not sure…."

"Stan and Kyle are together. Finally," Kenny stated shortly. Wendy and Bebe blinked. Cartman frowned at his sub sandwich.

And then Bebe squealed.

"Really? AWWWW! How cute!"

Wendy looked up bewildered at her girlfriend's enthusiasm. "What?"

Before Stan knew what to think, Bebe was hugging him and Kyle from behind.

"You two are so sweet! Aww, you two make an adorable couple," Bebe gushed. She started fluttering her hands and squeaking with excitement. She suddenly rounded on Wendy.

"OH MY GOSH! Do you know what this means, Wends?" she twittered to the girl. Wendy's mouth was slightly agape with her lips twitching into a half smile. She wasn't sure what to make of the other girl's outburst.

"Er – what does it mean?"

"We have someone to double date with now! Isn't that wonderful?" she squealed hugging Wendy and then giving Stan and Kyle yet another hug.

Wendy cleared her throat. "Um, Bebe, Stan and Kyle haven't even confirmed if Kenny's telling the truth."

Bebe paused, her smile slipping. She spun back around to face Stan and Kyle who jumped.

"Well? Is it true?" she demanded as if they told her 'no' she'd punch them in the face.

Stan grinned, blushing. "It's – uh – true."

Kyle nodded.

Bebe gave a cheer and clapped her hands together.

"That's all well and good," Wendy spoke up, "But I'm more concerned on how you two are feeling. Eric told us what happened to you two last night. Kyle, how's your hands?"

Kyle set his hands on top of the table and wriggled his fingers a bit. They were still securely wrapped in their bandages. Stan had put on the new gauze about a half an hour ago. Kyle's fingers were looking much better.

Cartman downed the rest of his soda and turned to Kenny.

"Pay up, Po' Boy. You owe me fifty bucks," Cartman stated. He held his hand out, palm up, right under Kenny's nose.

"I don't have that much on me, dude," Kenny laughed, waving his hand back and forth.

"You aren't sneaking out of the bet, asshole," Cartman growled.

Stan looked up from his veggie burger. Kyle was sadly explaining to Bebe the damage his beloved Galileo costume had taken. The girl shook her head, covering her mouth with her hands. Wendy patted her shoulder saying she was sure it would be fixable.

"What's your bet about?" Stan asked, taking a sip of his water.

Kenny pulled out his wallet to show Cartman that, in fact, he had no money on him whatsoever.

"I bet Kenny that you two would start screwing around Freshman year of college."

Stan started sputtering on his drink.

"What?"

"I bet him that you two wouldn't start fucking until Sophomore year. So, I'm out fifty bucks," Kenny explained, though he didn't seem too disturbed by his loss. He winked at Stan.

"So, what have you two been up to?" Kenny grinned. Cartman looked disgusted and turned his attention back to his food.

Stan frowned, feeling his face heat up again. "We haven't done anything, dude. We've only been dating for a day!"

"Sure…." Kenny chuckled. Stan narrowed his eyes.

"Kenny, I'm serious."

"Aww, really?" Kenny pouted. "Well, I guess you two are kind of 'good boys'. You'll wait 'til the Honeymoon, right?"

Stan shrugged his shoulders and became suddenly very concerned about picking the sesame seeds off his burger's bun. Kenny nodded sagely and turned to Cartman, jabbing him in his large side.

"Ay! Stop that, you po' piece of shit."

"I guess I don't owe you anything, fat boy," Kenny laughed. "You bet they would fuck Freshman year, and they haven't yet. So, I don't have to pay you."

Kenny stuck out his tongue.

"You guys are assholes, you know that right?" Stan said, glaring at them.

"I don't see why you'd want to screw the runty Jew, Stan. He's probably riddled with diseases anyway," Eric mused. Stan flung a handful of ketchup packets at Cartman's face.

"AY! Fuck you, Stan! See if I ever root for your sex life again!"

"Shut up!" Stan hissed. Kyle looked up from Bebe and Wendy's conversation.

"What's he doing now, Stan?" Kyle asked, glaring at Cartman.

Stan shook his head. "Nothing. It's stupid."

"We're debating on whether or not Stan's going to pop your cherry this year or next," Cartman explained bluntly, before stuffing a handful of chips into his mouth.

Kyle nodded slowly. "I see." He looked at Stan who made a frantic gesture with his hands as if to say he had no clue what Eric was talking about.

Kenny leaned across the table confidentially. "Don't worry, dude. We're all sure Stan will make an honest man out of you before doing the nasty."

Stan wanted to bury his head in the ground. Why did Kenny and Cartman have to even exist sometime?

_Well_, said a little thought in the back of his head, _without them you'd still be in that grave._

Stan told that little voice to shut the fuck up; he wasn't talking about that now.

"Would you two stop being perverse," Wendy called down the table, giving both Kenny and Cartman a reprimanding look. They chuckled at her.

"Come off it, Wendy. We're just having fun," Kenny smirked. "Stan and Kyle don't mind." He turned to them. "Do you?"

Stan opened his mouth, but hesitated.

"No, of course not," Kyle smiled. "You two are just being assholes. Like always."

"Yeah," Stan agreed feebly, watching Kyle give another grin and start munching on his chicken sandwich.

When the group finally parted after dinner, Wendy and Bebe headed back towards the sorority house. Bebe hugged Kyle soundly, telling him they'd work on fixing his costume tomorrow. Cartman stood awkwardly behind Wendy. Several times he raised his hand as if debating about catching her attention. In the end he called everyone in the group a bunch of fags and nearly sprinted out of sight towards the parking lot. Kenny followed Stan and Kyle back to the dorm.

He pulled out a cigarette and lit the end.

"So, I've decided what I want to do with my life. At least for the moment," Kenny informed them. Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"And that would be?"

"I'm going to try my hand at being a doctor. Might be fun."

Kyle's jaw dropped open.

"W-what? You're kidding, right?"

"You want me to continue school. So I'm going to study medicine. I think it'll be fun," Kenny explained, happily taking a drag from his cigarette. Stan wanted to point out that a prospective doctor might want to reconsider his addictive habits.

"Kenny, you do realize that to be a doctor is really, really difficult, right? You have to go through a shit ton of years of school. And it's not cheap. You can't just flunk a class or two and somehow slide by," Kyle said very carefully. Kenny blew smoke out of his nose.

"I know," he said.

"Are you sure?" Kyle asked.

"Pretty sure," Kenny said grinning. "I mean, I might as well try shouldn't I?"

Kyle rubbed a hand over his forehead. Stan let out a low breath. They gave each other a look, and Kenny smirked at them.

"It was your idea, Kyle," Kenny stated. "You said I could save lives. So I want to try that."

Stan smiled, shaking his head.

"Do whatever you want to do, dude. We'll – er – support you, I guess?"

Kyle glared up at Kenny, sizing him up. "You better not half-ass this. I don't want to spend nights tutoring you for you to just say you give up again when you get bored."

Kenny frowned.

"If I change my mind, I change my mind," he said. "But I'm going to try. You can't begrudge me that, can you?"

Kyle opened his mouth to retort, but thought better on it. He just shrugged.

"Fine. Do what you want."

Kenny nudged him in the shoulder.

"You still going to help me with school, if I ask?"

Kyle sighed. "You know I will."

Back at the dorm, Kenny wandered off to the basement to raid the communal fridge. He told them he checked the count of Tupperware and leftovers that people left behind. If the food hadn't been reclaimed in over a week, Kenny took it.

"Dude, that's disgusting," Kyle said, making a face. "You don't know who's touched that food."

"I don't know what you're talking about, but it's free food, so I'm all over it." Kenny smirked and waved them goodbye as he disappeared down the dark staircase.

Five minutes and four flights of stairs later, Stan and Kyle returned to their room. Once inside, Kyle went to his closet and pulled out an old brown box and began taking down the Halloween decorations. He unwound the orange lights from their bed posts, taking care not to tangle the cord.

"Aw, I was hoping we'd keep them up for a little while longer," Stan said, taking a seat at his desk.

"Halloween's over, Stan," Kyle stated simply. "Plus, I hate leaving up decorations after the holiday's ended."

Pivoting his chair back and forth, Stan said, "It was a pretty lousy Halloween."

"I think that is a gross understatement." Kyle wrapped up the last of the lights and dumped them into the brown box. He then crossed the room to his desk and pulled his chair into the middle of the room. Standing on it, he began pulling down the paper bats. They had been tacked to the ceiling with tape, so a light tug brought them down easy. Stan stood up.

"Dude, let me do that," Stan offered. Standing on his toes, Kyle pulled down another decoration.

"I got it."

"Don't fall."

"I'm not going to fall. If it makes you feel better, stand there and catch me if I do."

So Stan did. To his great relief, Kyle did not fall. Having collected all the bats, Kyle shoved the box of decorations back into his closet and shut the door with a snap. Stan moved to Kyle's bed and lay down upon it. For a moment, Kyle watched Stan. He seemed to hesitate as if looking for something else to occupy his hands. He ventured over to his desk and straightened a few books. He swept his hand over the surface, clearing away any dust (which there was none). He made a great show of lining up his chair with the edge of his desk. He kept shifting it in place over and over.

"Dude, you okay?" Stan asked from across the room. He'd pulled over the pink book from earlier and was flipping through its browned pages.

"Did Kenny and Cartman really bet on whether or not we'd have sex?" Kyle asked his back to Stan.

"Yes."

"And what were they exactly betting on?"

Stan rubbed the back of his neck. "Apparently, even before we'd made this 'official'," Stan explained waving his hand back and forth between them, "they were betting that we'd fool around either Freshman or Sophomore year. So far – er – no one's won yet."

"I see."

"Yeah."

Kyle wrung his hands together, staring at the floor. He looked in deep thought, biting his lip every once in a while. Stan sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Don't let them get to you," he said, holding out a hand. "Come here for a sec, dude."

Kyle obeyed. He moved towards the bed, and Stan reached out and took his hand, pulling him down to sit beside him.

"You okay?" Stan asked.

"You want to have sex, don't you?" Kyle murmured so low that Stan thought he'd misheard at first.

Stan ran his hands through his hair and forced a laugh.

"Dude, look it's not like – I mean – it had crossed my mind…maybe once." _Liar_, Stan couldn't help but call himself.

Kyle folded his arms over his stomach and continued to stare at the ground.

"Maybe…." Kyle hesitated. "Maybe we should?"

Stan's face grew hot. "Should what?"

Kyle avoided Stan's eye, breathing a little too quickly.

"Maybe if I actually have it…I'll want it?"

Stan cupped his face in his hands and stared at the ground too. He mumbled through his fingers.

"Do you – do you want to?"

"No."

"Then why are you suggesting it?"

Kyle looked up. The two stared at each other for several seconds.

"I think it would be fair…," Kyle said slowly. "You're getting so little out of this relationship, Stan. You do anything I ask. You always have. Ever since we were kids. If I wanted something you got it for me. If I wanted to play a board game when you wanted to play football, we played the board game. When I didn't have enough cash for ice cream you gave me half of yours. Hell, you got me a fucking kidney that one time."

Kyle wiped at his eyes.

"You're always giving me everything I want. And I'm such an asshole that I just keep asking for more. I mean we've both done shit we regret; we've both turned our backs on each other more times than I'd like to think about, but in the end – in the end it always seems like you sacrifice more to make it all okay."

Stan frowned, not knowing how to answer; he reached out his hand and touched Kyle's shoulder.

Yanking at his hair, Kyle continued, "And here we are…trying to start – what? A relationship, something romantic. And I've already set up all my rules. What I want, I've already told you. And you just accepted it. But, you haven't said anything about what you want from this, dude. What do you want? Fuck whatever I've said; I just want to know what you want."

Kyle breathed heavily out his nose, staring straight into Stan's eyes. Slowly, Stan brought his hand away from Kyle's shoulder and slipped it into Kyle's bandaged hand.

"I want this," he said, smiling.

"My hand?" Kyle said, sniffing and rubbing at his eyes.

"Yep."

"That all?" Kyle asked. "It's pretty fucked up. Both of them."

"I know," Stan said scooting closer and taking hold of Kyle's other hand with his own. "But I want to hold your hand. Like we did in the park. I want to do that every day."

"But – but don't you want…more?" Kyle pressed. He touched his knee to Stan's thigh. "Don't you want more from me?"

Stan leaned over and kissed Kyle on the lips. He lingered close, allowing their noses to touch.

"I know you're trying to be selfless, dude, but that's not your thing. I want you to ask me to do the impossible. I want you to set rules. I want you to have your way. I want you to be happy," Stan whispered. He added, "…and comfortable with me. I don't want you to think I want something more. I want you to be happy. That's what makes _me_ happy."

"Stan…," Kyle breathed, kissing him again. "Stan…I don't…."

"How's this," Stan said, running his fingers through Kyle's red curls. "I'll ask you for one thing. Is that okay?"

"I'd do anything for you, Stan," Kyle whispered.

"Do you love me?" Stan asked shyly.

"Of course," Kyle said with a hint of his scoffing tone returning.

"Could you say it, please? For me."

"I love you, Stan," Kyle replied in a softer tone.

"Say it again…please, dude? I fucking love hearing it."

"I love you, Stan. I love you more than anything, dude. But don't you want – "

Stan kissed him again, cutting him off.

"That's all I need, dude. You think you're the one who's getting everything they want out of this. Out of us? You have no fucking clue, dude. All I ever needed was you to say that. To me that's the most I could ask from you."

"Dude."

For a brief moment, Stan let go of Kyle's hands and walked across the room to the light switch. He flicked it off, allowing the plastic stars to glow and the streetlamp's light from outside to creep in through the window. He returned to the bed and hugged Kyle to him. They lay down side by side; their hands clasped tightly together, almost forming one fist with the embrace. Kyle didn't care about his bandages. Nothing hurt if Stan was happy.

"I love you, Stan,"

He repeated the phrase again. And again. And again.

All night.

Until they drifted to sleep, wrapped in the security that when the two of them finally woke up in the morning, that Kyle's wonderful mantra would continue on and on.

* * *

><p><em><strong>End.<strong>_

Thanks again for reading! :D


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